


If This Is To End In Fire

by fairychangeling



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood Fusion, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Violence, Robin Hood References, Soulmates, Witch Loki, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 03:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairychangeling/pseuds/fairychangeling
Summary: Thor returns from war to find his father dead and his family lands seized.He sets out to reclaim what was once his and finds his path interwoven with that of the local witch, Loki.At first Thor distrusts and even blames Loki for his situation, but the more they are thrown together, the more Thor comes to admire him.Thor is not the only man who looks on Loki with desire however. Dark forces are at work, wanting more than simply Thor's lands, and Loki is instrumental to those plans





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's favourite film growing up was Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves? 
> 
> And guess who also loves witches and Loki as a witch? 
> 
> And guess who wrote a story mixing both these things together? Yes, it was me!
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely husband who checked this over, gave me his thoughts and helped me to keep going when I wanted to give up. 
> 
> Thank you also to thebdelliumlady, my wonderful artist who offered ideas and support and beautiful art! She completely got the romance novel vibe this story gained.

 

 

Execution day always drew a big crowd.

 

A gallows had been erected in the castle yard. Merchants had come early and set up their stalls in hopes of selling their wares to the spectators who would flock to watch a man die. It was a murderer who would meet justice today; that was a cause for a celebration and would draw a larger crowd than usual.

 

Loki and his mother had arrived as dawn broke. Fárbauti found herself a place to set out the ointments and elixirs she had come to sell and Loki amused himself.

 

He enjoyed the times they came to the castle, although they were infrequent. He had learned to move through the throng of the crowd without being noticed. He was small for his age and he had been honing his skills, ensuring that those he pick-pocketed did not feel his small, nimble fingers as he relieved them of their coins or purses.

 

The hanging of a murderer would mean nobility would be in attendance. They did not often attend the executions of the poachers who were hanged in the courtyard most months, but to watch a man who had taken the life of another twitch and dance at the end of a rope would draw them in.

 

It meant Loki would come away with more than than the few pennies his efforts usually earned him.

 

Fárbauti was the Witch. The things she and Loki owned were given to them by grateful or fearful villagers, bartered in exchange for Fárbauti’s magic. They were given fresh milk and fat hens, old blankets and clothes.

 

Loki hated it.

 

Fárbauti accepted whatever was given to her in payment, but it was not enough for Loki. He did not want handouts and hand-me-downs. He wanted beautiful things, expensive things. He wanted to wear the rich furs and velvet of the nobility.  He wanted the kind of money to buy his mother her own cow and maybe a pig to fatten for slaughter.

 

He wanted the kind of things that would never be given to a Witch.

 

Loki loved the feel of coins in his palm, the knowledge that with those little things he could feed himself and his mother through the winter months.

 

He had taught himself this skill and now he moved through the crowd, his steps light and his fingers deft - lifting a coin purse from one, a small knife from another - until he brushed against a boy a little older than himself. He hardly looked at the other boy, only felt the weight of the coin purse tied at the boy’s belt and tugged.

 

It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he felt it come away in his fingers. The boy’s head whipped round. He fixed his eyes on Loki.

 

Loki ran.

 

He was fast and nimble, ducking and weaving his way through the crowd.

 

“Stop!” the boy called after him.

 

Loki almost laughed at that.

 

If the boy thought his shouts would stop him then he was a fool. Loki would not meekly allow himself to be caught. He would not allow himself to be taken before the magistrate for his crimes. He had no desire to face a whipping for what he had done, nor to be strung up on the gallows beside the condemned man.

 

He was the witch’s boy. Loki knew that would condemn him too.

 

Fárbauti would plead for him; would remind the crowd how many of them owed the lives of their children and their sweethearts to her magic, but Loki knew that her gifts would not save him.

 

People came to Fárbauti when the shadow of death hung over them, when they had exhausted prayer and all acceptable options. They were grateful for what his mother could do, but they shunned her as soon as they were cured and they would hang her wicked son before he could grow to take her place as their witch.

 

Loki broke free from the press of bodies, but the older boy was on his heels. He tackled Loki into the dirt and pinned him there. Loki struggled and thrashed, but the other boy was stronger and his weight was immovable.

 

“I think you have something of mine,” the boy panted.

 

Loki kept his fingers gripped tight around the coin purse. He said nothing.

 

The the weight on his back eased and he was dragged to his feet. The older boy forced him around and looked Loki over from head to toe.

 

Loki pursed his lips and stuck his chin out, holding his head up proudly.

 

He would not beg or plead. A witch never did such a thing.

 

He hid his hands behind his back, the coin purse with them.

 

Let the boy say he had stolen from him, Loki would not hand over the evidence for them to hang him with.

 

“You are fast and you have courage, but you should put your skills to better use than thieving,” the boy said. He sounded imperious, as if he was attempting to lecture Loki upon the error of his ways. “I will forgive you and allow you to keep the coins, if I may claim something in trade?”

 

Loki looked at the boy properly now. He had looked at his clothes before, had judged him for a noble’s son for the finery he wore, but now he looked at the boy’s face.

 

The boy was taller than Loki, with cornflower blue eyes and honey coloured hair. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were scattered with freckles, but Loki fancied they’d fade in time. His mouth was crooked, giving him the impression that at any moment he might break into a smile.

 

Loki looked, and he saw, and his heart leapt in his chest.

 

A witch always knew, his mother said.

 

“What sort of trade?” he asked, carefully tucking the coin purse away into his pocket.

 

“A kiss,” the other boy said confidently.

 

“A kiss?” Loki repeated.

 

He reached for the other boy's hand, holding it in his own, tracing his fingers over the lines of his palm. He felt rather than saw the signs of the man this boy would be, the future he would have. There would be adventures and heartaches, struggles and triumphs.

 

He felt the boy's love line, as long as his own.   
  
Witches _knew_. They knew when they met the person their heart was destined for.

 

His mother had known. His father was the Lord of a distant Hall, married with two heirs of his own when she had met him but Fárbauti had known. She had lain with him and born Loki from their tryst. That had been as far as her love line had gone, just long enough to give her a child to pass her magic on to.

 

Loki knew his would be longer, entwined with this boy who stood before him now.  
  
"I will give you a kiss," he agreed.

 

Loki did not allow himself to feel nervous as the boy cupped his face. He brushed their lips together softly and Loki closed his eyes, feeling his heart beating hard enough to burst.

 

“Thor! Thor, where are you?”

 

The boy broke away from him guilty and Loki opened his eyes.

 

So that then was his beloved’s name. _Thor._

 

“I have to go, but I will see you again,” Thor promised, squeezing his hand tightly.

 

Loki already knew that was a promise he would keep.

 

Thor turned and pushed his way back into the crowd. Loki watched him, aware that he might have taken Thor’s coins, but that Thor was leaving with something of much more value.

 

He raised his fingers to his mouth, able to still feel the press of Thor’s kiss there.

 

Thor had taken his first kiss and he had taken Loki’s heart.

 

Loki stayed there for a moment longer, watching after Thor until he could no longer pick him out in the press of the crowd. Then he turned and made his way back to his mother and her stall.

 

“I’ve met the man I will marry,” he told her excitedly.

 

Fárbauti smiled at him.

 

“Tell me,” she said.

 

“His name is Thor and he asked me for a kiss,” Loki said, the words tumbling from his mouth as he hurried to tell his mother everything, excited to share the news with her.

 

A shadow crossed his mother’s face and she shook her head slowly.

 

“No, Loki, my sweet. You speak of Thor Odinson, the Lord of Asgard’s son. Nobility do not marry witches.”

 

Loki thought of his mother, of her own short love line and his conception. She had reason to warn him, but Loki knew his heart and he knew what he had felt when he read Thor’s palm.

 

“He will marry me,” he said with all the confidence of a child who did not yet know how it felt to have his heart broken.


	2. Chapter 2

**12 years later**

 

“We will be at my father’s hall soon,” Thor said.

 

“That is what you promised me two hours ago,” Valkyrie muttered. “Before that, you promised we would reach it before nightfall.”

 

Thor glanced over his shoulder, grinning at his companion. 

 

“You did not have to come with me,” he said.

 

“You also promised me my own lands and enough beer to drown a town for saving your life, Thor,” she said. “Of course I came with you.” 

 

Thor laughed loudly. He remembered that promise. It was one of the many he had made to her. If not for Valkyrie and her prowess, he would have died in the forsaken lands of Sakaar. She had saved him. 

 

“Yes, I remember. And I would find you a pretty wife?” 

 

“I can find myself a pretty wife,” Valkyrie said, squaring her shoulders. “I doubt you would be a good judge of what is pretty.”

 

“I would wager that a pretty girl should be moon pale, with dark hair and a plump mouth for kisses,” Thor teased. 

 

“And you would have her be delicate too, I have no doubt,” Valkyrie said. 

 

“Yes,” Thor admitted. “I would like her to be a lady, unused to hard work or the sun.”

 

Unlike Thor himself. His skin was tanned from the time he had spent under the blasted Sakaarian sun. He looked very inch the soldier he was, battle scarred and blistered. 

 

Valkyrie snorted.

 

“Will she be a maid, and should her bosoms heave when she sighs for you?” 

 

“I have not given much thought to her bosoms,” Thor said. “And I do not not care if she is a maid, but I would not like her to be too used to the ways of men.”

 

“You talk as if you’re buying a horse, not looking for a wife,” Valkyrie said. “I do not care what she looks like, who she is or who she has known. I will find her and I will love her.” 

 

“I shall not interfere then,” Thor said, smiling. 

 

They walked in a comfortable silence for the next mile. Thor’s legs ached, but he refused to say so or to let Valkyrie know. She would insist they stop for the night and Thor was too eager to return to his family home to allow them to stop for a moment. 

 

He had been dreaming of his return home since he reached the battlefield and realised the truth of war. Thor had proved himself a good soldier and a good fighter, but he had been humbled for it.  He understood now that a good warrior did not seek for a fight, did not seek to gain lands or glory. They fought to defend something he cherished. 

 

His war had been lost before Thor had ever set foot upon Sakaar. 

 

“It is good to be home,” he said, breathing in deeply. “It is so green here, even the mountains are green”

 

“It is cold and miserable and you won’t let me stop walking,” Valkyrie said. 

 

“You complain, but wait until you see it in the daylight,” Thor said. 

 

They reached a crossroads that Thor remembered well and took the left, heading up a steep hill. Valkyrie swore under her breath as she walked. Thor only smiled. 

 

For all her complaining, Valkyrie was not as heartless as she pretended. She had not left Sakaar behind for the riches Thor had promised her. She had come as his friend, to see the greenery and life of Asgard that Thor had promised her. She had come to make herself anew - reborn from the wars of Sakaar as Thor had been. They had fought on opposing sides once, but now they fought together.

 

“Only a little further,” Thor promised her. “At the top of the hill, we will be able to see my father’s Hall.” 

 

“I have learned not to trust your word,” Valkyrie said, but she seemed to find a reserve of strength, passing Thor as she walked.

 

She reached the crest of the hill before him and stopped. Thor thought she was just resting, but as he reached her side she turned to him, pressing an arm against his chest to hold him back.

 

“Thor…” she started.

 

Thor stared past her. 

 

Even in the gloom of the night, he could see what she had tried to shield him from.

The Hall was destroyed. 

 

“Father!” he shouted.

 

He pushed Valkyrie away and ran. His muscles burned, his heart thudded and Thor knew his was a hopeless task even as he reached the burned out shell of the Hall.

 

His father would not be there. No one would be there. 

 

Thor heard the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, but he did not turn. He expected it to be Valkyrie, but then a large hand landed on his shoulder and Thor was forced around. Before his eyes could adjust, could recognise the figure in the gloom, he was pulled into a fierce hug. 

 

“Lord Thor,” a familiar voice murmured. “You have returned to us.”

 

“Heimdall?” Thor asked. 

 

He drew back and looked into the man’s face. He was older than Thor remembered him to be, and his eyes, which had always been so unusual, almost golden, were now covered by a tight band of cloth. 

 

Thor tightened his grip on the other man, unable to accept these changes to a home that had lived unchanged in his memory for years. 

 

“Heimdall, old friend, what happened here? My father?”

 

Thor saw the moonlight catch on Valkyrie’s sword as she rose it, intent on striking down this stranger. She had come up so silently upon them, as dangerous here as she’d been in Sakaar. 

 

“Valkyrie, no! This is Heimdall. He is a dear friend and my father’s watchman. He is no threat to us. He is  _ blind _ , Valkyrie. ”

 

Valkyrie stopped, looking horrified. Then, slowly, she lowered her sword and sheathed it again.

 

“I didn’t know,” she said. 

 

Heimdall smiled. “You brought back a woman with you.”

 

Thor clasped his shoulder, unable to stop the smile that crossed his lips. “It is not as you think, my friend. Valkyrie has no interest in me.”

 

“A smart woman then.” 

 

Thor let out a bark of laughter, but he grew serious again in an instant. As good as it was to see Heimdall, it answered none of his questions.

 

“Please, Heimdall, I must know what happened here and where my father is?”

 

Heimdall’s smile vanished. “Your father is dead, Thor.”

 

“Dead?”

 

“He was gravely ill. It was his time,” Heimdall said. 

 

“Then what of the Hall?” Thor asked, gesturing to the destruction behind them. “What happened here? What happened to your eyes?”

 

Heimdall sighed.

 

“Let me take you to the others. You and your lady will need to rest and eat and this tale will take some telling.” 

 

***

 

Heimdall led them deep into the forest. It was a hard enough path for Valkyrie and Thor, who had all their sense, but Heimdall did not falter once. He knew the way and he ducked every low branch, stepped over every raised root. He was still the man Thor had known as he’d grown, the one who’d seemed to have a second sight.

 

Suddenly Heimdall held up his hand, signalling for them to stop. He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a call like a bird. A few seconds later the call came echoing back.

 

“So you will not be attacked as trespassers,” Heimdall said with a slight smile. 

 

They passed through a close cropped group of trees and then out into something that seemed to be from a dream. It was a village in the middle of the woods. There were houses, little thatched hovels. Smoke curled from a dampened cooking fire. There were pig pens and chickens settled down to roost. In one of the hovels, a dog barked until someone hushed it. 

 

“Who lives here?” Thor asked, looking around in wonderment.

 

“Your father’s household. His tenants. We are all outlaws now, Thor, with a price on our heads. We live in the woods and this is our home,” Heimdall said. 

 

A man came running towards them, out of breath. He was a large man, with a head of flaming red hair and a beard to match. Thor would have known him anywhere.

 

“Volstagg!” he cried.

 

“Thor!” the man shouted, embracing him just as fiercely as Heimdall had done. “Heimdall said he would hunt rabbits, but I think he has found us a better catch.”

 

Thor laughed. It was good to see his old friends, their familiar faces that he had missed so badly when he had been away. He was aching from the knowledge of his father’s death, for the pain of not being there to ease him through his last days, but he pushed that pain away now and focused instead on the strong arms of his friend as he hugged him.

 

“You must tell me everything, Volstagg. Heimdall would say nothing. He said the story was long.”

 

“It is,” Volstagg said. “Come and sit. I will rekindle the fire and fetch you something to drink and we will talk.”

 

“Who else lives here?” Thor asked.

 

“Me, Hildegund. We have four sons now, Thor, and another one the way. Fandral, Hogan. Heimdall, of course, when he chooses. Sif lives here too. There are many of us, more than that. Let me wake them up, they will want to see you again. It has been too long since you left us.”

 

**

 

The fire had been stoked. Volstagg had rapped on the doors of the hovels, waking up the inhabitants of the little woodland village. One by one they roused, some of them rubbing sleep from their eyes, some of them grumbling, but they all welcomed Thor home with a warm hand shake or an embrace. Thor saw new faces among the old. He met Volstaggs children, the oldest of whom had been but a babe in arms when Thor set out for war. 

 

It was all familiar, but a cloud of sadness hung over them. They should have met in the Hall of Thor’s father and he should have been there to welcome his son home. 

 

Settled in a circle around the rekindle fire, Thor felt weariness seep into his bones, but he could not rest yet. He needed to know everything that had happened. He needed to know why his father’s household lived outlawd in the woods. 

 

A jug of ale was passed around the circle. Thor took a draft, then handed it on to Valkyrie, who tipped the bottle up and drank every drop that remained.

 

“A good girl, that one,” Volstagg said with a wink.

 

“A good soldier,” Thor said. “She saved my life. Valkyrie, let me formally introduce you to my friends. It is by her skill and cunning with a sword that I stand before you today”

 

“But you fought against each other, didn’t you?” Sif asked.

 

Valkyrie lowered the jug and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

 

“I fought for whoever was paying. Thor convinced me that there could be more to life than battle.”

 

“What did he offer you?” Sif asked shrewdly.

 

“Land, a wife and beer for the rest of my life,” Valkyrie said with a laugh. “But friendship also.” 

 

Sif smiled. 

 

Thor looked across the fire at her. She had changed too. She was very like the woman he had described as perfect to Valkyrie. Her hair was dark, her eyes were bright. She was not a Lady, Sif was not highborn, but she had been Thor’s childhood playmate, the one who he had sparred with as they both learned to fight. Her skin, like his own, was tanned, not pale, but Thor still found her beautiful to look at. Perfection did not exist, but Sif did and she was very lovely. Thor stared long and hard at her, at the beauty she had grown into while he was away, until Volstagg nudged him in the ribs and Thor looked away. 

 

“Will you tell me what happened now?” he asked. 

 

He had let them celebrate his return, but he had too many questions that needed answered.

 

Volstagg sighed audibly. He looked to Heimdall, but as the man could not see him, he offered him no assistance.

 

“Yes, I will tell you,” Volstagg said with reluctance. “But you mustn’t believe any of the things that were said about your father, Thor. They were all lies.”

 

“What was said about my father?” Thor asked sharply.

 

“That he was a practitioner of the dark arts, that he consorted with devils,” Volstagg said in a low voice.

 

“What?”

 

“I am telling you only the charges that were laid against him. He was a dead man then, Thor. He could not defend himself. The Hall was torched and any who objected were made outlaws. Your family lands and title were made forfeit.” 

 

“But my father would never have done such things. Who accused him of it?”

 

“Lord Thrym,” Hogan muttered. “Our new sheriff.” 

 

“Those closest to your father were accused as well,” Volstagg said. “They tried to torture confessions from us.”

  
“That is what happened to your eyes?” Thor said with sudden comprehension, looking across the fire at Heimdall.

 

The other man nodded. “I would not betray your father or your family name, Thor. Not even when they took my sight.”

 

Thor swallowed. 

 

He had seen men weep and curse, had seen them offer anything to save their own skins. Heimdall had remained loyal even when Thor was thousands of miles away, possibly never returning. 

 

Thor had thought he was done learning, that he had been humbled thoroughly by his war, but he saw now that he still had many lessons to learn.

 

“Heimdall, I do not know how to repay you…”

 

Heimdall raised a hand, stopping Thor’s flow of words. “I do not want repayment,” he said. “I will take justice and a return to order.”

 

“I will ensure you get justice,” Thor swore. 

 

He looked at the people sat huddled in the fire glow, looking at him so hopefully.

 

It was not only Heimdall he needed to gain justice for. They had all suffered at the hands of this new Sheriff.

 

“I do not understand how such lies could have been believed,” he said angrily, thumping his clench fist on the ground. “My father was a good man.”

 

“It was hard to refute the charges, especially since your father had brought the witch to live at the Hall with him,” Volstagg said uneasily. 

 

“The witch?” Thor asked, confused. “Fárbauti?”

 

He remembered her, distantly. His father had consulted with her once when the crops failed and all other avenues had been exhausted. She had come to their Hall in her flowing, patchwork cloak with flowers woven in her dark hair. She and Thor’s father had conversed and Thor had hidden and watched them. 

 

His own mother wouldn’t let Thor go near the witch but Thor remembered that the witch had brought her son with her.

 

A thin, dark haired boy with moon-pale skin. 

 

“Not Fárbauti,” Fandral muttered darkly. “She died. No, he brought the boy witch to live with us.”

 

“Her son?” Thor asked, surprised by this revelation. 

 

How old would the boy be now? Past his twentieth year, certainly. He would be a man now with the mantel of a witch on his shoulders. Thor tried to picture how he would look from the glimpses he remembered and failed. 

 

Fandral nodded.

 

“There was talk.”

 

“There was a lot of nonsense,” Volstagg interrupted him. “Odin treated Loki as another son and the boy was nothing but good to him.”

 

“He was good to him because he reaped the rewards. You were always too soft-hearted, Volstagg.” 

 

“And you let your jealousy cloud your judgement,” Volstagg said with a laugh, clapping Fandral on the shoulder. “Loki would not let our friend here bed him, so Fandral holds a grudge.”

 

Fandral shrugged. His eyes met Thor’s. 

 

“He told me he was only for the Lord of the house. Take that as you will,” he said.

 

Thor nodded. His stomach churned and he suddenly wished he had something more in it than just ale. 

 

He could not imagine his father inviting a witch to live with them, especially not the boy witch, but his father had done just so. Thor knew his father had been lonely after his mother’s death. It had been the cause of many of the arguments between them. Odin had not wanted to remain lonely, while Thor had sought to sanctify the memory of his mother, refusing to believe his father could find any sport of happiness with another. 

 

Even so, Thor could not believe his father would have taken a boy to his bed, but the witch could have enchanted him. 

 

“Tomorrow, you must take me to this witch,” he said, looking to Fandral and then to Volstagg. “And then I will visit with Lord Thrym. I will reclaim my family lands, and my father’s reputation and you will be free men once again.”

 

That drew a cheer as Thor had known it would do. 

 

He leant back, grinning, and caught Valkyrie’s unimpressed glance. 

 

She didn’t understand. This was Thor’s home, his birthright and his land. Whatever had happened before, Thor would set it right. 

 

He would get the truth from the witch’s own mouth about his part in Odin’s downfall and then Thor would reclaim what was rightfully his. 

 

Thor yawned, his eyelid drooping. 

 

He looked forward to the morrow dawning. 

 

**

 

For as long as Thor could remember, the witch’s house had stood at the edge of his family’s lands. It straddled the small strip of land between the last of the fields and the wilds of the forest. The forest belonged to no-one. It was untamed, much like the witches. Thor remembered that it had always been well-kept. His father ensured that repairs were made yearly. 

 

Thor did not think his father had been fond of the witches. He certainly did not believe he had been as fond as Fandral had implied, but he knew that his father liked to stay on their good side. A witch was a powerful ally and a dangerous enemy. 

 

The house Thor approchd now was a tumbled-down wreck. The roof must have leaked. It had not been rethatched in years. The door hung uneasily, as if a strong gust of wind would blow it down.

 

It was another of the changes he found incomprehensible. 

 

Volstagg and Fandral had offered to accompany him to meet the witch. Thor wanted the truth of things, but he wanted the witch’s blessing as well.

 

People would listen to the witch. 

  
  


He knocked carefully on the door, then stood back, waiting.

 

The door opened slowly. Thor caught his breath.

 

The young man who stood in the doorway was tall and slender, with moon-pale skin and plump lips. His dark hair tumbled down over his shoulders. His bright green eyes regarded Thor with suspicion. He was gravely beautiful and Thor stared at him.

 

He could see how a man, even one as strong as his father had been, could be brought to ruin over such beauty. 

 

His beauty was not the only thing Thor noticed about the witch though. 

 

For a man who lived in such a badly maintained house, the witch was expensively dressed. He had silver rings on his fingers and silver bangles around his wrists. Silver chains hung around his neck and Thor found his breath again as he thought of those gifts being bought with his family’s money.

 

He had dearly wanted to believe Volstagg, to believe that everything between his father and the witch had been completely innocent. Thor couldn’t believe that now, not now he had seen the witch. 

 

“I am Thor Odinson and I come to seek council with you,” he said, finding his tongue.

 

The witch’s eyes widened.

 

“I had foreseen you return to us rather earlier than this,” he said. “You are late, Lord Odinson.”

 

“I do not believe I am a Lord any longer,” Thor said ruefully. 

 

The witch shrugged. “Somethings do not change, no matter what the law says.”

 

He looked passed Thor to his companions.

 

“Fandral,” he said curtly, giving the man nothing but a glance before his attention went to Volstagg. His expression softened. “Volstagg, how are you and your children? How is Hildegard and the babe?” 

 

“We are all well, Loki,” Volstagg said, a wide smile on his face. “It won’t be long until the babe is born.”

 

“You are truly blessed, Volstagg, to have so many healthy children and such an agreeable wife,” Loki said.

 

“Aye,” Volstagg agreed.

 

“We did not come here to exchange pleasantries,” Fandral muttered. “Thor requires to speak to you.”

 

“And for that he requires the escort of two men? I did not realise I was considered so fearsome,” the witch said, laughing at his own joke.

 

He held out his hand, the bracelets around his wrist jingly musically as he beckoned Thor to follow him. “Come, my Lord. I know you are a skilled warrior. We will talk and your escorts can wait outside.”

 

Thor felt a heat surge in him. He followed the witch boy into his cottage, shutting the door behind them.

 

The inside of the home was better kept than the outside; and Loki had made the most of the one room he had to call his own. There was a bed pushed to one corner of the room. A table and two chairs took up the rest of the space. Dried herbs hung from the rafters.  A small sickle was hung from the wall by an old rusted nail and a length of twine. The scent inside the cottage was earthy, musty, with the greenness of the herbs adding a pleasing note. It reminded Thor of being in a forest after the rain.

 

Loki sat down at the table and gestured for him to do the same. He took from his belt a little pouch and opened it, tipping a cascade of rune stones onto the table between them.

 

“You want me to tell you your future?” 

 

“Yes,” Thor agreed. “And then I want to talk to you about your past.”

 

The witch nodded. He ran his fingers over the stones, his pretty face betraying nothing.

 

Thor watched him closely. 

 

“You must be sure of the path you intend to take, my Lord,” Loki said finally. “You will bring fire and suffering with you if you raise arms against Thrym.”

 

“You are warning me against seeking to clear my father’s name?” Thor asked, surprised.

 

“No, I am telling you that you must be prepared for what your fight will bring.”

 

“I have been to war. I do not fear the things you speak of. I will do everything within my power to return my family to their rightful place.”

 

The witch’s smile was cold.

 

“You mean to restore yourself. You are the last of your family line.”

 

Thor clenched his jaw. 

 

Hadn’t the witch lived at his father’s Hall? Hadn’t he enjoyed their hospitality and been his father’s companion? The way Loki spoke now, Thor found himself more inclined to believe Fandral’s tales than Volstagg’s. Loki did not sound like a boy who had been treated as a son. He did not sound like someone who had found himself a home at their Hall. 

 

He sounded like an enemy. 

 

“Do you think my father’s soul sleeps soundly while his reputation and is name are dragged through the mud?”

 

“I think your father is dead and his spirit is reunited with your beloved mother. I do not think he cares what the living do or say now,” Loki said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

 

Thor stared hard at him. 

 

“Why did my father let you live at the Hall?”

 

The question didn’t phase the witch. He collected his runestones and tucked them away as he spoke, cleaning up as if he expected Thor to be on his way sooner rather than later. 

 

“He asked me to live there. He wanted me close. I performed tasks for him. I spoke with your mother, I delivered her words to him, and I brought him visions of you. We watched your campaigns and your glories.”

 

He spoke so lightly of the things he’d done. Thor found it hard to believe. 

 

It was the witch who had caused all of this and yet he didn’t seem to understand the grave injustice he had caused. People had suffered because of him, because of his wickedness and his magic. 

 

“You are the reason he was accused. You communed with the dead,” Thor growled, getting to his feet. 

 

He grabbed hold of Loki’s collar, dragging him out of his seat, not certain yet what he meant to do, but he would find a way to make the witch pay for blackening his father’s name, for causing Heimdall’s torture and the loss of Thor’s family lands. 

 

“I did what was asked of me by a dying man! I held his hand and comforted him in his last hours,” Loki snarled, twisting vainly in Thor’s grip. 

 

Thor was far stronger than he was and no amount of struggling would free him. 

 

“And the hours before then, I am sure,” Thor hissed, his words low and dangerous, his face pressed close to Loki’s. “Fandral has told me how you worked your way into my father’s good graces. He was a sick lonely man and you took advantage of him.”

 

He did not expect Loki to hit him. 

 

Thor let go of him, stumbling backwards. It was not a painful blow, but the shock caught him off-guard. He held a hand up to his cheek, feeling the heat from where Loki had slapped him. 

 

Loki stalked towards him, his eyes blazing furiously and Thor found himself backing away until there was nowhere left to go. The house was too small to get away from Loki. 

 

“I took the tasks that his son would not. I cared for him while you fought your wars. I held his hand when he died and I prepared his body for burial. I cried the tears at his grave side,” Loki snarled, pressed practically chest to chest with Thor, he stood so close.

 

So close indeed that Thro could see the tears in his eyes.

 

“You know nothing of what I did or why I did it, but you march back here, spoiled and entitled and accuse me because of one man’s word. You seek to start a new war, one between yourself and Thrym and you want for my blessing. You do not have it, Odinson!”

 

Thor shoved him away, the words having hit far harder than Loki’s hand. His father had died alone with only this witch-boy to care for him. It should not have been that way, Thor should have been there to comfort him and bury him, to protect him from the witch and his wickedness, but Thor couldn’t change the past. He could only right the future. 

 

“I do not need your blessing! My father had it, and it destroyed him!”

 

Thor stormed out of the hovel. He walked passed Volstagg and Fandral, too angry to explain. 

He had gone to the witch for answers, but he had gained none. 

 

All he knew was that his father had been too ill in his last days to see the witch for the greedy, grasping creature he was. Thor did not need his support. 

 

“Do not come back,” Loki shouted after him. 

 

“I will not,” Thor shouted over his shoulder, unwilling to let Loki have the last word.

 

The door to the hovel slammed shut and Thor snarled. 

 

This anger would do him no good for his meeting with Lord Thrym. 

 

**

 

Thor found that his anger did not leave him. 

 

Volstagg and Fandral had waved him off when they reached sight of the Keep, unable to accompany him any further with their outlaw status hanging over their head. Thor kept his hand on the handle of his sword as he walked, aware that his own status was questionable. The charges laid against his father had been false, but that did not mean Thor was likely to be welcomed with open arms by the man who had declared his family lands forfeit. 

 

Thor followed a long line into a hall where the new sheriff was holding audience. 

 

It was the first time Thor had ever seen the other man, and it surprised him to find that he was nothing more than a man. From the things he had done, Thor had assumed he would be a monster.

 

Thrym was tall, even sat as he was now, holding court like a king, sitting in judgment of all those who came before him. He had dark hair, cut just below his chin and cold, stony grey eyes. He wore black, reminding Thor of an executioner rather than a sheriff. He was not as strongly built as Thor, but there was no doubt that there was muscle underneath Thrym’s clothes. 

 

Thor wondered what he had been before he became sheriff. A soldier? A mercenary? 

 

He certainly did not have mercy on any who brought their plea before him. He gave no charity to the pleas of the sick or the hungry. Those who came before him with debts they could not pay where taken in chains from the room, taken where they would work until their debts were paid. Thrym cared not that he broke up families, that he left children or the elderly without support. He enforced the law without care for the suffering he caused.

 

It did not matter that Thyrm’s appearance was not that of a monster. Inside his chest, the heart of a monster sat.

 

Finally, Thor reached the front of the line and stood before Thrym.

 

His anger burned inside him while Thrym regarded him with cold detachment. 

 

“Speak, man. What is your name and what is your purpose today?”

 

Thor flexed his fingers on the handle of his sword.

 

“I am Lord Thor Odinson and I come before you today to request the pardon of my father and the return of my family lands.”

 

Thrym smiled. He leant towards Thor, more interested in him than he had been in anything else brought before him.

 

“Thor? I believed you had died in Sakaar.”

 

“I am very much alive, as you can see,” Thor replied. 

 

“Yes,” Thrym said dryly, his tone suggesting that was only a temporary state that could be altered. 

 

“I have been told my father was accused of consorting with devils,” Thor said. “I have come to refute these claims and demand pardon.”

 

Thrym’s smile did not falter.

 

“I have a signed confession from the witch who guided him.”

 

Unbidden, Loki’s face - angry and tear-stained - flashed into Thor’s mind. Loki, who had pretended to be so horrified by Thor’s accusations. 

 

“That witch is a liar,” he said angrily. 

 

“Thor, I cannot return to you the lands which have been taken by the law, nor the title which your father for forfeited by his actions,” Thrym said, as if his hands were tied, but Thor knew that was not the case. The sheriff both enforced and interpreted the law. There was no reason to keep up this charade, unless it was to deny Thor his birthright.

 

“Why do you want my family lands?” he asked. “Why do you want to deprive me of my title?”

 

Thrym’s smile faded. His expression hardered. 

 

“You father broke the law. I have done what was required. Your title has been stripped, Odinson, but you have freedom and I have not accused you of the crimes of your father. Leave, before I reconsider my leniency.” 

 

Thor drew his sword.

 

There was a gasp from the assembled crowd, but Thrym merely raised an eyebrow.

 

“You threaten me?” he asked. “I am the law here, Odinson.”

 

“The only law you enforce is your own. My father is innocent!”

 

Thrym stood. He was taller than Thor, an imposing figure, but Thor had fought men like him before and he didn’t feel the fear he knew Thrym intended to invoke. 

 

“You have drawn your sword and threatened a man of the law before witnesses. Guards, seize him!”

 

Two guards rushed towards Thor, but they were not match for a trained soldier. Thor took one of them down with a slash of his sword, hitting him across the stomach, causing the man to crumple to the ground in agony. The other one he caught across the side of the face, knocking him unconscious with the heavy weight of his sword hilt. 

 

Thrym drew his own sword, but Thor was already backing away.

 

“I will see you put to death for this,” Thrym said.

 

“I am certain you will try,” Thor agreed. 

 

With Thrym in front of him and the crowd behind him, Thor’s only line of escape was the nearest window. He did not hesitate to think further, but dived for the window, crashing through it and onto the ground outside. 

 

He wouldn’t get far on foot, but there was horses tethered nearby and Thor had already attacked the local sheriff's men. He would not balk at stealing. He chose the white horse - a beautiful sturdy creature - and swung himself up on to her back. He tugged her reigns free and she took off on her own, as if she knew exactly what Thor needed her to do. She took him through the city gates, out into the wide expanse of the countryside and towards the cover of the forest. Thor heard shouting behind him, heard the whistle of arrows, but the horse was too fast and Thor was too far away for any of them to hit.

 

The horse took him into the darkness of the forest and only then did Thor take hold of the reigns to guide her.  He slipped from her back and led her through the twists and turns of a path he had followed only twice before himself. He arrived back at the encampment to find Valkyrie waiting for him, polishing her sword.

 

“What trouble have you got yourself into this time?” she asked, pointing her sword at him as she stood.

 

“I am an outlaw now,” Thor admitted ruefully.

 

Valkyrie shook her head. 

 

“You should have waited for me,” she said.

 

“I do not think it would have been of much help. Thrym is not a man who can be reasoned with.”

 

Valkyrie smiled.

 

“All men can be reasoned with, when a sword is involved.”

 

Volstagg arrived then, slightly out of breath. “How did it go Thor? Why do you have Lord Thrym’s horse?”

 

“You stole his horse?” Valkyrie asked incredulously.

 

“I didn’t know,” Thor said.

 

“Mjolnir is a fine animal. She was sired by one of your father’s greatest stallions,” Volstagg said, reaching for the reigns to take the horse from Thor. “It is only fitting that you would take her. She should never have been Thrym’s to begin with.” 

 

“Then she is the first of many things I mean to reclaim,” Thor said, grinning. 

 

Volstagg clapped him on the back, laughing. “Good man.”

 

He gave the reigns a little tug, but Mjolnir stood firm. Volstagg tugged again, harder, and Mjolnir still resisted. It was only when Thor patted her flank that she moved, following behind Volstagg as he led her off to find her something to eat. 

 

Valkyrie watched them go before she turned her attention back to Thor. Her eyes were shrewd. 

 

“You are planning a war,” she said, her voice dispassionate. 

 

“I am planning to take back what is mine, what is ours,” Thor said.

 

“You are going to ask these men and women to fight for you? They are not soldiers, Thor,” she cautioned.

 

“We can train them,” Thor said. 

 

If he and Valkyrie worked together they would be able to train a group of soldiers that were as strong, if not more so, than those working for Thrym. 

 

Valkyrie looked unsure. 

 

“Are you certain?” she asked. “I will fight beside you, but are you certain?”

 

Thor sighed. He would do anything not to bring the pain and suffering of war down upon the heads of his friends, but his first instinct, to reason and hope that truth provalied, had only seen Thor’s name blackened further. 

 

Thrym would not listen, the law was corrupted, so all they had left was lawlessness.

 

“I do not believe there is any other way,” Thor said. 

  
  


**

 

Loki’s rage would not abate.

 

He had smashed a pot, torn down the herbs drying overhead and stomped and kicked, but still anger coiled in him like a snake. He had been waiting for Thor’s return for so many years, had survived on that hope even when everything else had been destroyed, but now he cursed himself for daring to have that hope in the first place.

 

Loki had only gone to the Hall because of Thor. He had ingratiate himself into Thor’s family, had nursed Odin through his illness because of Thor. His blood had been spilled in the name of Thor and his family line. Loki’s heart had told him that he and Thor were destined and Loki had done what he could to ensure he would be waiting for Thor upon his return.

 

His motives might have been self-serving, but they were nothing close to what Thor had accused him of. 

 

It hurt him more deeply than he wanted to admit. Thor believed Fandral’s words about him, believed that Loki was some sort of whore who had wormed his way into Odin’s good graces by spreading his legs. It made the rage in Loki rise again, made him want to twist and break anything he could get his hands on until the pain subsided. 

 

Everything had been for Thor and Thor had rejected him. 

 

Loki had been waiting for him, yearning for him, and now he hated himself and his foolish heart. 

 

He should have learned from his mother. He should have known that a Lord could never love one such as he. 

 

Loki stared at the sycle on the wall, wondering if his could cut his heart out. He had been so young when his heart had chosen Thor. He hadn’t known anything about the world. 

 

He could have been mistaken, his heart could have been mistaken. There could be another man who’s loveline matched his own, who was more worthy of Loki and his devotion. There had to be. 

 

Almost as if called by fate there was a knock on his door.

 

Loki whirled around. His heart leapt in his chest. Even now, it still hoped that the visitor would be Thor. 

 

Loki told his treacherous heart to be quiet and opened the door. 

 

He knew the man who stood in his doorway well. Lord Thyrm had been a frequent visitor to Loki’s home. His visits were a different kind of torture to the one Loki had endured after the burning of the Hall, but a torture all the same. He would never be free of Thrym until one or both of them was dead. 

 

Thrym had pardoned Loki’s life once, and ever since then he had held that over Loki’s head. 

 

When he snapped his fingers, Loki jumped like a trained dog. He brought out all his tricks for Thrym and he was rewarded, but Loki was knew that his survival relied on his usefulness. As soon as he stopped being useful to Thrym, in whatever capacity Thrym desired of him, then Loki’s life would be forfeit. 

 

He slunk back into his home and Thrym took that as an invitation to enter, pulling off his riding gloves as he did. 

 

“Please, sit,” Loki said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “I have wine.”

 

He busied himself with retrieving a goblet and pouring a little wine into it. His fingers itched and Loki yearned to grab something, perhaps Belladonna, and sprinkle a little into the cup but he could feel Thrym’s eyes on him. 

 

Loki had not survived such hardships to end himself so easily. He carried the cup back to the table and took his seat across from Thrym, arranging himself prettily in his chair while Thrym raised the goblet to his mouth and drank.

 

Loki was always a gracious host where Thrym was concerned. He watched the man closely, wishing he would choke on his mouthful.

 

Finally Thrym set his goblet down and looked across the table at Loki.

 

“I have brought you a gift, Loki”, he said, reaching down to his belt. Unbidden, Loki’ eyes followed the movement. His breath caught in his throat as Thrym pulled forth a beautiful dagger from his sheith. There were red jewels glinting in the handle and Loki did not want to consider the price of such a thing. Thrym often brought him expensive gifts, buying a little of Loki with each one. 

 

He had brought Loki clothes, jewelry, everything Loki had long desired, but that luxury was not free. 

 

Loki knew that eventually Thrym would demand to take what he had paid for. 

 

Loki held out his hand and Thrym placed the hilt of the dagger carefully in his palm. 

 

“To protect yourself with, Loki. There are far too many outlaws now and you are on your own.” 

 

Loki closed his fingers around the hilt, feeling the coldness of the jewels against his finger tips. He dreamed of stabbing it into Lord Thrym’s neck.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured. “You are too kind to me, my Lord.” 

 

“It is nothing you do not deserve, Loki,” Thrym said, his eyes watching Loki’s hands as Loki tucked the dagger carefully into his own belt. 

 

“Shall I read the runes for you, my Lord?” Loki asked obediently.

 

Thrym had had him do readings for him before. It was usually why he came. Thrym saw the advantage of having a witch who would divine the future at this beck and call. It helped as well that Loki had grown to be beautiful. He saw it in the way Thrym watched him, in how his gaze followed Loki’s every move. He had seen it when he had been broken and bloody, tears in his eyes. Thrym wanted him and it made Loki’s skin crawl. 

 

“What do you know of Thor Odinson?” Thrym asked, catching Loki off-guard.

 

“Very little,” he answered truthfully. “He was not there when I lived at the hall.”

 

“Is he a threat to me?” Thrym asked, watching Loki carefully. 

 

“He is a spoiled Lord’s son. He is reckless and impatient and foul tempered. You have nothing to fear from him,” Loki said, his anger betraying him.

 

Thrym looked down at the goblet in his hand. He set it down on the table and stood. 

 

He took hold of Loki by the shoulders, his fingers stroking gently, but the grip was unmistakable. Loki did not try to struggle.

 

“You sound as if you know him well, Loki.”

 

“I knew him when we were boys. He took my first kiss.” 

 

Thrym’s gaze darted down to his lips. Loki knew he was considering taking his next kiss.

 

“I wish you would consider moving into the Keep, Loki. I would feel much better if you were under my protection.”

 

“I am in no danger from Thor Odinson,” Loki said.

 

He had no intention of moving into Thrym’s home, no matter how the man pressed him. He knew what the Lord wanted with him. He did not desire Loki’s protection. He desired only Loki. 

 

Thrym studied him closely and Loki found it hard to breath under such intergiation.

 

“Odinson is a fool, Loki. He is unworthy of his title and he is unworthy of you,” Thrym mumrmered.

 

Loki’s u ntrustworthy heart leapt in his breast, leaping to Thor’s defence. 

 

“He has never had me,” he said, trying to laugh off the accusation in Thrym’s words. 

 

His heart leapt again, defiant against the lie, telling him that he had always been Thor’s, but Loki ignored it. Thor had proved how unworthy he was of the devotion Loki had shown him and Loki was not about to endanger himself with Thrym simply because his heart could not be controlled. 

 

“Of course not,” Thrym said, but it was clear in his voice that he did not believe Loki’s protests.

 

He let go of Loki, stepping back.

 

“Do be sure to warn your people that if any of them side with Odinson, they will be outlawed and examples will be made,” he said. 

 

Loki swallowed, certain he could already feel the noose tighten around his neck. 

 

**

 

Thor remembered the market day from when he was a boy. He remembered it as vastly different to what he saw now. There had been an abundance of produce, animals milling around waiting to be sold for slaughter, money changing hands and people bartering over clay pots or new bolts of cloth. Now the stores seemed very bare. There were no craftsmen there to sell there wears, hardly an animals had been brought to sell and the produce that was presented was of poor quality, but fought over.

 

Sif nudged him in the side, drawing Thor’s attention. It had been her idea that they disguise themselves and attend the market. She had wanted him to see for himself what the whole of their community was suffering. 

 

“Thrym is starving them,” she murmured. “He takes everything of value and when the people resort to poching to feed themselves and their families, he outlaws them or hangs them.”

 

“Why?” Thor hissed. 

 

He could think of no reason that Thrym would want to preside over an impoverished county. 

 

“I do not know,” Sif said. “I have been keeping track of it as best I can. I believe he is hoarding the money he had gained, but I do not know for what.”

 

Thor licked his lips, remembering the finery that had adorned the witch. Had some of Thrym’s stolen wealth become the bangles and trinkets that Loki wore? But even if Loki had expensive tastes, Thrym would not need to bankrupt his people to pay for his place in Loki’s bed. 

 

“We must find out what he plans to do,” he said. “And we must do all we can for these people. Whatever Thrym takes from them, we must return. We must ensure they have food and security, that they do not fear the winter coming.”

 

Sif’s smile was breathtaking and Thor allowed himself to bask in it. 

 

“I am glad you have returned,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm, gripping it tightly. 

 

Thor was glad he had returned also, glad to have her smile at him so. If she could only continue to do so, he was certain it would push all thoughts of the witch from his mind. 

 

“Sif…” he murmured, his eyes drawn to her lips.

 

It would be so very easy to kiss her, to forget all the unpleasantness of the last few days. 

 

Sif squeezed his arm, then stepped back.

 

“You are not the boy I remember who used to pull my hair,” she said, still smiling, but the moment between them had passed. 

 

Thor was not certain what he had said or done, but Sif drew her disguise around herself, hiding her charming face, and disappeared into the crowd. He stared after her, wondering if the years he had spent away had changed everything. He had been to war, he had suffered, but it had been a suffering he’d chosen. Sif had remained here, she remembered him as the rightful Lord of Asgard and she had suffered for her association with him. 

 

There were so many things that could not be put aside lightly, however Thor felt about them. 

 

He sighed, leaning back against the wall. 

 

There was nothing to do but watch the people as they came and went. Thor focused on them, on their conversations. He heard the hard bargains that were driven, the desperation in the voices of those who haggled. The people who remained were the very poorest, those who had not had the chance to pack up and create a new life for themselves when the lands of Asgard had become the property of Thrym. They were the unskilled, the sick and the lame. They were all that remained of a flourishing people that Odin had once been master of. 

 

As he watched, Thor became aware of a small commotion, a flurry of excitement towards the other end of the market. Thor put his hand on his sword hilt, hidden as it was under his cloak, wondering if it was Sif, if she had been discovered.

 

There was a price on her head as well. 

 

He drew his cloak around himself, keeping his face shadowed and approached. 

 

As he drew closer, Thor saw it was not Sif who had drawn the little crowd, but Loki. 

 

The witch was in his element, surrounded by people. They beeseached him, tugging on his arm, begging for cures and favors. Loki seemed serene in the middle of it, carefully removing the hands that grabbed at him, offering soothing words to some and more tangible relief to others. Thor saw one or two small earthwarn pots change hands as the witch pressed them into the palm of someone or other. There was no payment in return. 

 

From what Thor had seen, from the way the witch boy dressed as if he were of noble blood, wearing his jewelry and his handsome fabrics without any coyness, Loki’s apparent willingness to give away his hardworked magic for free surprised him. 

 

Thor remembered how Fárbauti would bring her elixirs and tonics to sell on market day. He had always been curious about what she offered, but his parents had kept a firm guard on him and he had never been allowed to sate his curiosity. Fárbauti had set up a stall though, she had not walked through the marketplace inviting this kind of fawning attention that her son did. 

 

He also did not think Fárbauti had ever given anything away for free. She had always been paid, even if it was in services and skills, but then Fárbauti had never been the Witch of the land while the people were starving.

 

Despite himself, and despite all of the things Thor was prepared to think about Loki, Thor found a grudging respect for the man. Loki did not ask for what could not be given. He did not keep his skills from the people who needed him the most. He spoke with each person who approached him, clearly knew them and their needs.

 

A thought flashed across Thor’s mind, the memory of Thrym holding audience with the people, a memory of how cold and dismissive he had been. 

 

Loki was the opposite of that. 

 

The crowd around Loki began to ebb and Thor pressed forward. After their last encounter, he knew he should avoid the witch, but he found himself drawn to Loki and he did not resist that pull as he should have done.

 

He stepped behind Loki, leaning close. Like this, he could smell the scent that Loki had dabbed on himself. It was expensive; a spicy, heady scent and Thor found it warming him thoroughly. 

 

Who could afford to shower Loki with such gifts? Had it been a gift or a payment? Thor didn’t know, but he knew that the scent suited the witch. 

 

“Do you have anything spare to give a poor beggar?” he asked, keeping his voice low, for Loki’s ears only.

 

Loki whirled round. His eyes were very wide, but as he realised it was Thor stood behind him, an expression of careful disdain replaced the shock he had shown moments before. 

 

It was as if he had slipped a mask into place. 

 

“Your disguise is a bad one, my Lord.”

 

“Ah, but what if I do this?” Thor asked. He drew the fabric of his cloak across his mouth obscuring the lower part of his face. “Now no-one can tell who I am.”

 

Loki laughed, covering his own mouth with his hand to try to stifle it.

 

Thor dropped his cloak, grinning.

 

“I made you smile.”

 

“It is a reflex only,” Loki said, but he wore his humor plainly. 

 

His smile was intoxicating.

 

“I’ve been watching you,” Thor said. 

 

Loki raised an eyebrow.

 

“Oh?” 

 

“With the people,” Thor hurried on, realizing a little too late how his words might sound. “You’re good with them. They trust you.”

 

Loki’s smile faded. “No, they don’t. They’re desperate and I am the only hope they have.”

 

“You still help them,” Thor pointed out. “There are others who wouldn’t.”

 

Loki looked uneasy. He shifted his weight, coiling in on himself, looking for a moment as if he might jump from the ground and take flight to get away from Thor and his words. 

 

Thor opened his mouth to say something else, to try to reassure him, but Loki got there first. 

 

“Do you still condemn me as your father’s whore?” Loki asked.

 

“Loki…” Thor said warningly. They had been friendly, warm towards each other. He did not want that spoiled by the past.

 

Loki said nothing. He turned away and made to leave.

 

Thor grabbed hold of his arm, stopping him.

 

“You must forgive me for my beliefs. Your beauty could bewitch even the strongest man.”

 

Loki glanced over his shoulder.

 

“Is it bewitching you, my lord?”

 

Thor felt the breathe stolen from him. He let go of Loki’s arm and Loki took his chance to flee, melting into the crowd.

 

Thor knew the answer to Loki’s question and he loathed it. 

 

He had been bewitched by Loki ever since the first time he had laid eyes on him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Loki came and went from the woods as he pleased. He had grown up in them and they had been family to him and his mother. This was were they foraged for the ingredients for their potions, where they found food when they had none, were they came to find peace and solitude. It was where Loki had buried his mother after her death. Not for Fárbauti a burial inside consecrated ground with a headstone to serve as marker. 

She had belonged to the forest and Loki had brought her back to it. He had planted flowers and laid out stones to mark the place for himself and he visited her often. 

Loki feared that his own body would end up in an unmarked grave, a ditch at the side of a crossroad or shoveled into a pit with five or six others. He never read his own runes for such a reason. He did not want to see the dark future he was certain hung over him. He had seen the shadows of it since Thor Odinson returned. He had seen flickers of what could become of him in both the readings he had done for Thor and or Thrym and he was nervous.

He came to his mother’s grave to quiet his fears. He did not conjure her. He did not disturb her sleep, but he sat in quiet contemplation for a while. 

Then, so as not to waste the daylight hours, he went further into the forest to gather nettles. They were a hardy thing, and people could live on them if they needed to. Loki could make nettle soup for himself and anyone in need of a bowl of it.

On his way back he followed the main road through the forest. 

That was how the two men found him.

They blocked his path, bows drawn and pointed at him.

Loki stopped. There had never been an issue with bandits before. Lord Odin had sent patrols into the woods to ensure that none of the people ever need fear them, and Lord Thrym was ruthless with lawbreakers. 

He eyed the two men who had stopped him. 

Their clothes were worn, their hands were dirty. Their bows were crewedly made, but some skill had gone into them. They held them professionally, as if they had been trained to them. Loki found something about both men vaguely memorable, as if he had seen their faces before. 

“All who pass through the woods have the pay a toll,” one of the men said.

Loki laughed.

“I am exempt from your laws. I am a witch,” he said.

He had never paid a tax or a toll in his life. These things were not expected of witches. They lived outside those sorts of petty rules. No witch who had lived in Asgard has ever paid tithes to the Lord for their home there. 

Once these men understood their mistake, they would let him pass. 

“You have to pay the toll,” the man repeated obstinately. 

His friend beside him fidgeted uncomfortably. 

Loki narrowed his eyes, his good humor vanishing

“On whose authority?” he asked. 

“Thor of Asgard’s authority,” the man said triumphantly. 

Loki sighed. He should have expected such a demand to come from Thor. How very like a Lord to make people pay for what had been freely theirs to begin with. 

“Tell Thor I demand to speak to him then,” Loki said, shooing the man away with a careless wave of his hand. “I shall pay no toll until we have talked.”

The two men looked between each other uneasily, uncertain for a moment if they should follow his order or not. 

Then one of the man took off into the woods, leaving his uneasy friend to stand watch over Loki.

“Don’t worry, I won’t turn you into a slug this time,” Loki said with a wide smile.

It pleased him no end that the man balanced visibly. 

**

“Thor!” 

Thor looked up as his name was called. 

A man was running towards him. Thor tried to remember his name. Their numbers grew day by day as more people came from the villages to join them, friends and family of those originally outlawed or those just drawn to the fight against Thrym. Thor had not found it hard to recruit men from the starving and desperate people. He gave them food, training, a bed to sleep in and a purpose. He offered them a return to the land they had known and the prosperity they had enjoyed under his father and they flocked to his cause. 

The man reached him, panting and out of breath.

Thor let him recover, still racking his brains for the man’s name. 

“Thor, there is a man on the forest road who demands to talk to you. He said he would pay no toll until you speak to him,” the man, Skefil, looked nervously at him. 

Thor crossed his arms over his chest. He had wanted it known that the toll was on his orders, that he had reclaimed the woods as his family’s land. He had wanted Thrym to hear of it and to know that there was one area of Asgard that was off limits to him. 

He had not expected that any of the nobles they stopped on the road would want to talk to him.

“Oh, and what does this man look like?” he asked.

Skefil’s nervousness did not diminish.

“It is the witch, my lord. He said he didn’t have to pay.”

“Loki,” Thor shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I should have guessed he would be the one to make trouble. Take me to him then, we do not want him finding his way to us.”

**  
“I understand you are making trouble,” Thor called as he neared the road.

Loki turned to look at him and Thor’s breath caught in his throat. 

He wondered if there would ever be a time when Loki did not render him dumbstruck. Even now, with basket full of nettles at his feet and a scowl on his face, he was far the most beautiful person Thor had ever seen.

“Your men accosted me and insisted I pay the toll,” he said accusingly.

“We were only following your orders,” the man who had been left to guard Loki said.

Thor remembered that his name was Njal.

“And I have explained to him that I am a witch, these woods are mine as much as they are yours, and that I do not have to pay your toll,” Loki said. 

“He threatened to turn me into a slug,” Njal said.

Thor smiled. He did not think Loki could do such magic, or else he would certainly have turned Thor into a toad upon their first meeting, but others clearly believed it.

“Put down your bow,” he said to Njal. “Loki’s bark is worse than his bite.”

“How would you know, Odinson? When you have never felt my bite,” Loki said, baring his teeth.

Thor rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face warm. He did not think Loki meant his words to be alluring, indeed Njal took a step back at them, but Thor could only imagine that Loki’s bite would feel very pleasant indeed. 

“Come now, Loki, you have more than enough finery,” he said, gesturing the length of Loki’s body. 

Loki wore long, highnecked robes in pale green, fastened with small wooden buttons down the front. Thor had not felt the fabric, but he knew Loki well enough now to know he was not picking nettles with the intent to dye his own clothes. 

Loki raised an eyebrow.

“You wish for me to disrobe? Certainly, the fabric will fetch you a good price,” he said, his hands going to his throat, beginning to unbutton the high collar of his robe.

Thor licked his lips, his eyes unconsciously drawn to the skin that was now revealed to him.

Loki’s hands moved lower, to undo the buttons across his chest and Thor realised that if he did not put a stop to it, Loki would undress completely, regardless of the fact that Njal and Skefil were watching. Loki would do so just to be contrary. 

“No,” Thor said, reaching out quickly to catch Loki’s hand, pulling him away from the buttons. He held it up, the bangles at Loki’s wrist jingly as he did. “What about these? What does a witch need with silver charms?”

“I like them,” Loki said. “Do they not suit me?”

Thor sucked in a deep breath. 

“Oh, very well they do, but you are beautiful enough without them,” he said.

Loki looked at him carefully, studying Thor’s face for a moment, before he bowed his head. 

“You will really make me pay to walk in my own woods?” he asked sadly.

“It is not for me,” Thor hurried to explain. “The money we make is to buy supplies, food for the people.”

Loki raised his head and now he looked surprised. Thor did not like that look on his face, did not like the fact that Loki had assumed the worst of him.

“Then I do have something for you,” Loki said. He pulled his hand free from Thor’s hold and reached down to his belt. He drew a beautiful gilded dagger free, the hilt studded with rubies. “I think this should be enough to buy me my freedom to come and go as I please.”

Thor took the dagger from him. It was heavy in his palm and Thor could not imagine who had gifted it to Loki. It was the sort of thing carried by a prince of the realm, not a witch. It was grander than anything even Thor and his family had ever owned. 

“Thank you, Loki. That is most kind of you,” he said, slipping the dagger into his belt for safe keeping.

He would return it to the camp and the treasury they kept there later. 

“It is not dear to me and it will fetch you a high price. Please, do some good with the wretched thing,” Loki said dismissively. 

He reached for the basket at his feet, picking it up and turned to walk away. 

Njal and Skefil stepped aside to allow him to pass, but Thor could not let him go just yet. 

He caught hold of Loki’s wrist, tugging Loki back to him. 

“I mean to,” he said, hoping Loki could hear the conviction in his voice. “I mean to protect all the people of this land, Loki, you included.”

“You believe I need protection?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

Thor smiled at him. He lifted Loki’s hand and pressed a courtly kiss to it. 

“I believe that my offer stands whenever you are ready to accept it.” 

He let go of Loki then, watching him down the path until he rounded a bend and the trees obscured him from Thor’s view. 

“Really? The witch?” Njal said in a hushed voice.

“He is pretty,” Skefil commented.

“Aye, he is that,” Njal agreed. 

Thor pretended not to hear their whispers. 

**

Thrym found himself again at the witch-boy’s door. 

He had offered a price on Thor Odinson’s head. He had offered 20 pieces of silver and the offer had gained him nothing. Odinson terrorised the woods, collecting a toll from any noble who traveled through to Asgard and Thrym had dealt with nothing but complaints from merchants and other Lord’s who had been weighleighed on their journeys, robbed of their valuables and their money before they were turned loose towards Asgard. 

So far, Thrym had been able to soothe those complaints, but the activity worried him. 

If Odinson attacked the wrong person, word might reach the King. Thrym did not want that. 

Asgard was a peaceful place. Thrym had made certain of that. He had crushed every bit of opposition he met. The King had never needed to worry about Asgard and so he had never looked too closely at Thrym’s actions. It had suited Thrym and his ambitions perfectly.

Now though, there was Odinson.If his little rebel-hold could not be contained soon, Thrym might have more difficulties than he had envisaged. 

He knocked on the door of Loki’s hovel, surprised when the door was not immediately opened to him. Loki was normally punctual but now Thrym stood on the doorstep, waiting. He knocked again impatiently and this time the door was opened. 

Loki looked different somehow. His eyes were brighter, his smile less strained. 

“My Lord,” he said, and his tone held none of the clipped carefulness Thrym had come to associate with him.

He wondered if Loki was finally thawing to him. 

“I need you to do another reading for me, Loki,” he said, sweeping into the cottage, brushing against Loki as he did, heat flaring in him where their bodies touched. “I need you to tell me if I will be thwarted if Odinson lives.” 

Loki shut the door behind them. Thrym had spent a long time admiring Loki and he noticed the tense of the man’s shoulders when he mentioned Odinson’s name. 

Loki had sworn there was nothing between them, but Loki had sworn a good many things.

If it had been Odinson that had caused this sweetening in Loki, then Thrym would cut the man’s heart out and feed it to Loki piece by piece. He would not lose his future, his lands and Loki to the man. 

Loki turned away from him to set out the rune stones and Thrym took the chance. He grabbed Loki from behind, pinning him against the table, his hands snaking up over Loki’s thin chest. He could feel Loki’s heart beating wildly, but the boy didn’t struggle. He stayed still as a stone in Thrym’s hold. 

“Do you know what I would have to do to you, Loki, if I found you consorting with Odinson?” Thrym asked.

He curled his fingers around Loki’s neck, feeling the shudder that ran through Loki’s body.

“I will have you publicly lashed.”

He tightened his grip, hearing Loki gasp for air.

“I will have you bound in the square, will have you made an example of before all of them. And they will come to see you, Loki. They will come to see you humbled.”

Loki would draw a crowd. They would want to see their beautiful witch stripped and bound, whipped for his duplicity. They would want to see him cry as Thyrm did, to see him beg to have the whip stilled. Thrym would be lenient - twenty lashes at the most - but he would not allow Loki to escape his punishment. 

“And then, Loki, to ensure that everyone knows what you are and what you have done, I will cut your hair off.” 

He buried his nose in Loki’s long dark hair then, breathing in the scent of it. Loki’s hair was his crowning glory and to lose it would hurt him all the more, but hair grew back and while it did Loki would not forget his shame. 

The prospect of pain and public humiliation would keep Loki away from Thor Odinson. 

Thrym would not allow Loki to leave him, not when he was so crucial to all his plans. 

He moved one hand lower, placing it firmly over Loki’s stomach and he felt Loki stiffen.

“So it is true,” he muttered. “You can carry a child.”

Loki didn’t move. He didn’t speak, but Thrym did not need to hear the words from his mouth when Loki’s body had already offered him all the conformation he needed. 

He would not let Odinson have this. He would not allow Loki to be made fruitful by such an unworthy man. 

It was tempting to bend Loki over the table then, to do away with any pretense of courtship and take what Thrym require from him, but he did not let himself give in to such base desires. If a bed-warmer was all he had wanted Loki for, he would have had him when he raised the Odinson Hall. 

Loki was part of a much larger plan and Thrym would not have him until their union had been sanctified and blessed. He would have Loki in the bonds of marriage and the child Loki bore him would be legitimate. It was vital and he would not sate his lusts until that had come to pass.

Regretfully, he pulled away from Loki, removing his hands from the boy’s body. He stepped back, once more standing a respectful space away from Loki.

He regarded how Loki’s shoulders shook now as he breathed in deeply, how his fingers curled against the table top. 

Soon, Thrym would see those fingers curled in the sheets of his bed, would see Loki tremble from something other than fear. 

“You are wrong,” Loki said, his voice low, rough. He didn’t turn his head or look at Thrym. He didn’t need to. Thrym listened to every word Loki said whether conscious or unconscious. “Thor Odinson is nothing to me. He will never be anything to me. He is a thief and I will celebrate the day you spill his blood.”

Thrym raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected.

Loki turned to face him then, his green eyes dark and full of hate. “Odinson stole from me. He took the dagger you gifted me for his toll.”

Thrym stepped towards him and Loki did not flinch away. He let Thrym cup his cheek, let himself be gentled. 

“You poor thing,” Thrym murmured. 

He would make Odinson pay for that. He would ensure that the dagger was returned to Loki and he would do it with his own two hands if he had to. 

Loki shut his eyes, his chest heaving. “He believes me to be a whore, believes that I lay with his father to gain my place in his Hall. I hate him. I hate him more than any other man I have ever met.”

The venom in Loki’s words was unmistakable. It would be enough to poison any man who heard it. It dripped into Thrym’s heart, warming him through. He had begun to think Loki a lost cause, but now he truly believed Loki hated Thor Odinson. 

“I will kill him for you,” Thrym said, stroking his fingers across Loki’s cheek.

It was part of the plan, something he had meant for since Odinson’s return, but now it was a duty Thrym looked forward to. He would do this task for Loki as a token of his devotion. 

Loki opened his eyes again and Thrym found himself lost in them. 

“I know,” Loki said, his voice steady with conviction. 

Thrym could not resist him then. He tilted Loki’s chin up and kissed him.

Loki’s mouth was soft and yielding. Loki opened to him as Thrym had always hoped he would do and Thrym set about to conquer. He pressed Loki back against the table and took what he wanted from their kiss. Like this, with Loki so pliant, Thrym could believe that Loki would come to enjoy the future Thrym had planned for them. He could believe that their mutual hatred would draw them together. 

Regretfully, he pulled away from Lok, eyes flickering over him, taking in the little changes. He enjoyed the light pink blush in Loki’s cheeks, the swollen wetness of his mouth. Loki had his eyes closed, breathing heavily and Thrym wanted to kiss him again, but he didn’t allow himself. 

The visit had strengthened his resolve and shown him the path towards his victory. 

Thrym had been too patient, allowing Loki to say in his hovel, granting him freedoms he did not deserve nor need. The return of Thor Odinson had hastened his plans and Thrym no longer had the time or the inclination to woo Loki. 

Loki was as ripe and ready for the plucking as any low-hanging fruit on the tree. 

He did not require wooing, only the correct incentive. 

“I believe I must cut our meeting short,” Thrym said briskly. “I do not require the reading afterall.”

If he did not leave now, he knew he would be tempted back into Loki’s arms and that would not do. Other things needed to happen. The plan could be brought forward, but he could not change it completely.

To have Loki now, even if Loki was willing, would rewrite too much of his careful planning. 

Loki would come to understand his place soon enough. Thrym would make certain of it. 

**

Thrym stepped from the hovel, pulling on his riding gloves.

His guards were waiting, one of them holding the reigns of his horse. It was not as fine an animal as Mjolnir had been, but as Odinson had stolen her, Thrym had made do. 

As far as he was concerned, Mjolnir would be all Odinson would ever take from him. 

He mounted the horse, snatching hold of the reigns. He looked at the assembled guardsmen who had accompanied him and waited with his horse. Thrym was not such a fool as to go alone on a trip that led him close to the forest, not with the outlaws living within. 

“Burn it,” he said, nodding his head towards the hovel. “We will see how Loki takes to homelessness.”

The guards nodded. They were loyal men, paid well to follow the orders Thrym gave them and allowed perks that other men were punished for. 

Thrym fixed them with an imperious look.

“You are not to hurt the witch. He is to escape. Only the home is to burn.”

The guards nodded again. 

Thrym, satisfied, dug his heels into the side of his mount and spurred the horse in to action. 

He had given Loki too much, had allowed him too much. Now he would take it all away. 

Loki would come crawling to him, and Thrym would welcome him in to his home with open arms. He would give Loki the protection he had always offered him and in return Loki would give him what he needed: his body.

 

**

Thor looked grimly at the chests of money he and his men had collected. Sif had counted and re-counted the contents. For the money that was coming in, Asgard should have been one of the richest counties in the Kingdom, but as far at Thor could tell it all went directly in to Thrym’s pocket. What he did with it then, Thor had no idea. Certainly, he did not spend it on the neglected people who starved under his watch. 

“You have enough there to pay for a small army,” Valkyrie said, interrupting Thor’s gloomy thoughts. 

He glanced at her, then looked back at the gold.

“Enough to buy mercenaries like you?” he asked, her words jolting an idea into his mind. 

Why else would Thrym be hording such a store of wealth? He wasn’t spending it on himself, and even the trinkets he had brought Loki would not have required half the store of coins that Thor had here. 

Thor placed a hand on his hip, his fingers brushing guiltily against the hilt of the dagger that Loki had given over as his payment for free passage through the forest. Thor had meant to put it with the other forfeitures. He had meant to pluck out the rubies and sell them, but each time he went to do it something stilled his hand. 

Loki had not given over the dagger as gift, but Thor was keeping it as if it was one. 

Valkyrie nodded. “I should say so,” she said. 

Thor frowned.

“And why would Thrym need to buy himself an army of mercenaries?” he asked, voicing his thoughts out loud. 

Valkyrie didn’t answer. There was a commotion outside, clattering and banging, then Njal burst through the door, panting and red faced. 

“There is a fire! Thrym’s men! They’re burning the witch’s cottage.”

“Loki!” Thor cried, all other thoughts forgotten.

Loki was in danger. 

“Thor, wait, it could be a trap,” Valkyrie hissed, reaching to grab hold of his arm, but Thor pushed her away.

He would not be cautious now, not when Loki’s life was at risk. 

“Thor,” Valkyrie called after him, but Thor was not listening.

He ran to where Mjolnir was tethered, pulling her loose and pulling himself up onto the animal’s back before he spurred the creature to action. She was not saddled, but Thor did not let that stop him. He knew how to ride without a saddle and Mjolnir carried him as if she had always been his mount, swift and loyal. 

Thor rode as fast as Mjolnir could carry him, frightened that he would be too late.

**

The hovel was a smoldering shell. Nothing could have survived such a fire, not even Loki.

Thor did not feel real as he dismounted his horse and walked towards the burned out remnants of Loki’s home. He felt as if he was dreaming. The smoke, the heat that linger in the air and the horrible, charred scent did nothing to ground him. None of it seemed real and yet Thor had seen enough of the ruins Thrym left in his wake to know it was all too real.

Loki couldn’t be gone. He had been so alive, so vivacious and Thor refused to believe that he could have died like this, trapped in his burning home. 

He refused to believe that he could have failed Loki so completely. 

Thor had sworn he would protect Asgard, protect the land and Loki included. 

He staggered, his legs no longer supporting him as he imagined Loki’s terror. Had Loki clung on to the false hope that Thor would arrive in time? Had he cursed Thor with his last breath as he realized Thor would not make it?

Thor sank to his knees. His chest felt hollow, as if his heart had been carved out. He clutched his fingers into the soot blackened grass, needing to anchor himself to something, frightened he would be swallowed up in the hollowness if he didn’t. This greif was the worst he had ever known. It was worse than his home-coming, worse than learning of his father’s death and the destruction of the Hall. 

Witches died by fire, but not Loki. It should never have been Loki.

“I’m not in there.”

Thor turned his head, his eyes misty with tears. 

Loki stood behind him. His eyes were red rimmed, his face streaked with soot, but he was alive.

“How did you…?”

“They set fire to an empty house. I was never in there,” Loki said. He looked down at his hands, and Thor could see the tips of his fingers were burned. “I tried to save her things - my mother’s things - her books and her clothes.”

Thor climbed ungracefully to his feet. He reached out for Loki and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tightly crushed against him.

“I thought you were dead,” he said. 

Loki said nothing. He buried his head in Thor’s shoulder and wept silently. 

Thor held him, unwilling to let himself stop, fearful that Loki would vanish if he let him go. 

Thor did not know how long they stood like that, if it was hours or only minutes, but finally Loki pulled away. 

“I have lost everything,” he said. “That is two of my homes that have been burned to the ground.”

“You should come with me, you should come to the forest. I will protect you,” Thor said, the words coming without hesitation.

“I am an ill omen,” Loki said. 

He looked nervously up at Thor. 

Loki’s situation was precarious. They both knew that. Loki was not a welcome figure to many in Thor’s band and Thor was not honour-bound to protect Loki. He could leave him here with nothing.

Where would Loki go then? Who would he seek shelter from?

Thor thought he knew the answer.   
Thrym sought to drive Loki to the brink, to rob him of his pride and independence. He wanted Loki to come to him broken, to beg for his protection and the security of the Keep.

Thor would not allow that. 

“I will still offer you the protection of my camp,” he said, brushing some of the soot from Loki’s cheek.

“As I have no better offers, I accept,” Loki said.

His eyes showed the relief he felt more palpably than his tongue would allow him. 

“We do have one rule,” Thor said. “Once someone has seen the way to our camp, they cannot leave.”

Loki nodded. 

“I suppose I will never leave then,” he said.

Thor held him all the more tightly. 

**

They rode back to the camp, Loki with his arms around Thor’s waist, his head resting against Thor’s back. Thor heard him sigh now and again and wondered if Loki had fallen asleep or if he was awake and simply did not wish to talk any more. 

Thor knew how it felt to lose everything, to have his home destroyed. He had lost everything too, all the precious things that had belonged to his parents, his mother and his father. There had been things in the Hall, great things, passed down through his family line that were lost now, engulfed by flames. He imagined it must be much the same for Loki. In his little cottage had been his spellbooks, the knowledge of his family line passed down to him as Thor’s family had coveted swords and gifts from Kings. 

Loki’s warm weight against his back was soothing and Thor found himself riding slower, urging Mjolnir to tread carefully so she did not disturb Loki. 

They still reached the encampment far sooner than Thor would have liked. 

The moment he was sighted, a cry went up. 

“Thor! Thor’s back!” 

Thor tugged on Mjolnir’s reigns, pulling her to a halt. Loki’s hold on him tightened, enough to tell Thor that Loki was awake. 

A small group gathered with Valkyrie at the forefront, her hands on her hips and an icy glare on her face. 

“You can’t keep going off on your own, don’t you know there’s a price on your head!” 

“I had to,” Thor said. 

He gently unclasped Loki’s hands from around his waist and slipped from Mjolnir’s back.

He heard a gasp from the group as they realised just who Thor had brought back with him. Now that he no longer had Thor to hide behind, Loki sat up straight on Mjolnir’s back, his chin raised haughtily. He looked like some spirit of the fire, his clothes burned and his cheeks streaked with soot, but still prideful and beautiful in his destruction.

Thor reached out a hand to help him down from the back of the horse. 

Loki slide from Mjolnir’s back and into Thor’s arms. Thor held him close for a moment, looking at him, hoping to reassure Loki. 

Loki looked back at him, showing none of the fear that Thor had seen before. The mask was back in place. It was impressive how quickly he could compose himself. 

Thor could almost believe him completely indifferent if he didn’t see the twitch of Loki’s fingers, the nervous tremor running through him that he couldn’t hide, not from Thor and not this close. 

Loki wanted to be accepted, but he was too proud to beg or to show his need. He was a witch and a witch never took charity. 

Thor stepped back from him, looking at the group who had gathered around them. As well as Valkyrie, Fandral was there, Sif and Volstagg. Thor saw other worried faces, but he focused on those of his friends. He would convince them that Loki deserved to be among them and the others would come around. 

“Loki will be living with us now. He has lost his home, was burned out of it.”

There was a murmur of discontent in response to that.

“He is now under my protection,” Thor continued, undaunted. 

There was a pause, heavy and prolonged.

Finally Volstagg stepped forward from the crowd. 

He looked Loki up and down, appraising him with a thoughtful glint in his eyes. 

Loki drew in a deep breath, jutting his chin out, growing more haughty as his position became more precarious. 

Volstagg’s eyes flicker to Thor, then back to Loki and then he broke into a smile, clapping his hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki comendably remained standing under the weight, although his legs sagged a little. He seemed stunned that anyone had touched him. He shrank away from the touch and Volstagg let him, his smile growing softer, fonder. 

It reminded Thor that Loki must have been very young when he came to the Hall. He couldn’t have been more than a boy. 

Volstagg had always had a soft spot for those younger than him. He had indulged Thor in his war games when he was a little boy, had allowed Thor to follow him around the estate, let him prattle on about anything and everything. Volstagg had worn that same soft, fond smile then too. 

“Good to have you back with us,” Volstagg said. “Come, sit. You look like you walked out of hell.”

The crowd parted, Volstagg’s welcome enough to vouch for Loki for the moment. The little group allowed Volstagg to escort Loki, fussing over him as he went, worrying about his clothes, asking questions Loki only mumbled a reply to. They followed in Volstagg’s wake, still curious about the witch, still distrustful but the true danger had passed.

Thor did not know what he would have done if they had joined ranks and refused Loki a home with them.

Unofficially, Thor was their leader. They had deferred to him in memory of his father and in memory of Thor’s title. Most of them had been breed and brought up on the Asgard estate. Fealty to their Lord had been in their blood, but Thor was their Lord no longer. He was an outlaw and the same as them. 

Bringing Loki here could have been a step too far. Thor knew he tested their loyalty by bringing the witch-boy to live with them. Loki was the reason they had lost hearth and home. If Odin had not been so fond of him, had not invited Loki into the Hall then they would not have been driven from their homestead and seen their livelihoods destroyed. 

It was not Loki’s fault, not truly, but his presence had been enough to condemn Thor’s father and those associated with him. 

Although most of the group had followed Volstagg and Loki, there were a few stragglers who had hung behind, unwilling to let this be the last word on the matter. Thor sighed, aware that this could not be an easy won victory and squared his shoulders. He would have to prove that his bringing Loki here would not end in the destruction of another home. 

Fandral stepped in front of him, his usually pleasant countenance twisted as if he had tasted something bitter. 

“You brought the witch here,” he hissed, the words an accusation.

“Loki is homeless. I promised I would protect all against Thrym and that includes him,” Thor said. 

“How do you know he is not a spy? That Thrym did not send him?” Fandral demanded.

“Why do you dislike Loki so, Fandral? I know he did not fall for your charms, but he is not the first and you have never harbored an ill-will like this,” Thor said.

Fandral’s eyes darkened and he looked away from Thor, his gaze on where Loki sat. Volstagg’s children had crowded Loki, given courage by how their father had accepted this newcomer. They played with Loki’s hair, asked him questions, settled down beside him. Loki seemed more at ease under their guileless attention. Thor could not understand how Fandral could see that and believe Loki to be a danger to them. 

“Your father was accused of devilry, Thor. The witch was captured, but he did not swing or burn. He was set free. I have always wondered what he gave Thrym to gain his freedom.”

Thor swallowed. 

He had not allowed himself to think such thoughts, but now unbidden he remembered what Thrym had told him about the signed confession he had gained from the witch. 

Thor wanted to believe Loki innocent, to believe him guiltless in the whole affair, but Fandral’s words stoked a spark of mistrust to life in his heart. 

There were things Thor did not know, things Loki had done, and even as Thor watched Loki seemingly so at peace with them, that spark began to rage out of control. 

**

When Thor approached him and bid Loki walk with him, Loki did not suspect anything. 

None of this had been as he’d expected, but his heart was valiant, reminding him that he was with Thor now and how that had come to pass was unimportant.   
They walked in silence, Thor stealing glances at him.

Loki tucked his hair behind his ear, unaware of the real reason for Thor’s looks. 

Thor reached for him suddenly and Loki let him, completely unsuspicious. Thor’s hands found purchase, gripping his shoulders and Loki’s heart leapt, readying him for the moment when his destiny became his present. 

Thor slammed Loki against a tree, knocking the breath from him.

“Did you betray my father?” he snarled.

Loki fought for breath. His chest stung and his eyes filled with tears.

The shock of it caught him off guard as much as the pain, but the betrayal of Thor’s words cut deeper. 

“No,” he gasped.

“How did you escape?” Thor asked, his grip tightening. “What did you do to gain your freedom, little witch? Did you lie about my father, did you paint him as a devil worshipper to save your own skin?”

“Thor, please!”

Loki clawed at the hands that gripped him, kicking out uselessly as Thor lifted him up by the front of his shirt. Loki heard the rending sound as the fabric tore and then he was on his knees at Thor’s feet, panting for breath as Thor stared down at him. 

Loki saw the moment Thor’s fury turned to understanding, then to despair.

“Loki,” he said softly, crouching at his side, trying to wrap the tattered remains of Loki’s shirt around him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Loki.”

“You believe the worst of me always,” Loki bit out. 

“Please, Loki, forgive me.”

His hands stroked across Loki’s back, across the scars that were still visible there, a clear reminder of what Loki had suffered. 

“I did not betray your father, Thor,” Loki said, bowing his head. He did not want to remember the past, did not want to remember the pain he had endured, but Thor had not been satisfied to take his word. He needed to see the proof of Loki’s suffering before he would believe him.. “I survived because I am pretty and I was useful. Thrym wanted fortunes, he wanted my guidance. He was not above condemning your father for the same things he sought from me, but he spared my life to gain them.”

“Loki, did he…?”

“Did he make use of me, Thor?” Loki asked, his lips twisting in an ugly smile. “You are always so quick to think I am someone’s whore.”

“I mean to cut off his prick if he made you suffer it, Loki,” Thor said, the words so serious and so solom that Loki looked up at him. 

“No,” he said, staring into Thor’s eyes. “No, he didn’t. He wanted to, I am certain of it, but he didn’t.”

“A small mercy,” Thor said. His arms encircled Loki, hold him tightly.

Loki thought he should want to push Thor away, should want to hate him, but he found himself curling closer to Thor, into the warmth of his arms. 

“I am certain it is small,” Loki agreed with a smile and that drew a snort of laughter from Thor.

“Can you forgive me?” Thor asked, burying his head in the side of Loki’s neck, his breath warm against his skin.

“Yes,” Loki said. “Eventually.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was Thor who built the new witch cottage, nestled deep in the woods, in the safety of their encampment. 

 

He refused help from the others, refused to let them assist him on his quest to earn Loki’s forgiveness. Thor tasked himself with providing Loki a refuge, returning to him the independence Loki had once enjoyed. He would not become another Thrym, another man who sought to make Loki dependant on him. 

 

Whatever words had come from Loki’s mouth, Thor did not believe that his cruelty was easy to forgive. 

 

He was no skilled craftsman, but he was penitent and committed to his task. 

 

He chopped the wood with his own two hands, working late into the night and rising early in the morning to continue his task. He set about to constructing the walls, pausing only to sleep or eat. 

 

Loki watched him and he did not keep his criticisms to himself. 

 

Thor would work a full day and then tear it down all he had completed the next at Loki’s request.

 

It was a test. Loki wanted to see if his contrition was truly meant. He wanted to know that Thor would not fly off into fits of rage or abandon this project when Loki was not immediately gracious. Loki needed to know these things and Thor knew that he had to prove the very real change in himself to Loki. 

 

The house he constructed, the labour of love he undertook, meant for more than promises ever could. Thor wanted Loki here. He wanted him to live among them. This was his home, and Thor would prove that.  

 

When it was complete, Loki looked over the small cottage with modest approval. He inspected it inside and out, as if he hadn’t been with Thor through every step of the construction. 

 

Thor still found himself nervous. If Loki wanted it, Thor would rip the whole cottage down and start again. 

 

He would rebuild as many times as it took.

 

Loki placed a hand on the doorframe, smiling as he gazed around his new home. He looked contented, peaceful there and it warmed Thor’s heart.

 

Then he shut the front door in Thor’s face, shutting him out. 

 

Anyone else would have taken it as a rebuke, but Thor did not.

 

Loki was establishing their boundaries. Thor wasn’t yet completely forgiven, humbled though he was. 

 

It was nothing more than he deserved. Loki would let him in when he was ready and Thor would wait patiently for that time to come. 

 

**

 

Hilde went into labor in the mid-afternoon. 

 

At first, she was unconcerned. She shooed away her husband and his concern, insisting this was not her first child and that she was comfortable enough. She retired to her home and Volstagg checked on her, but there was no hint of what danger awaited them. 

 

Thor was awoken in the middle of the night by a pounding on his door. He opened it to find Sif there, her face very pale.

 

“Something is wrong,” she said.

 

Thor followed her. 

 

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He had never seen a child born, but he had seen enough people die and he feared that was what Sif had called him for. 

 

Volstagg was stood outside, wringing his hands. He looked up as Thor neared and Thor saw the fear in his eyes.

 

“Hilde’s dying,” Volstagg said. “The baby…”

 

Thor grabbed hold of his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort  to him, but he didn’t think there was any comfort he could give. 

 

Volstagg had been looking forward to the birth of his new child. Now he was faced with losing both his wife and the babe. There was no thing Thor could do to make that right.

 

He heard footsteps, hurried ones, behind him and then Loki pushed passed him.

 

“Why didn’t you call me?” he hissed.

 

He pushed his way into the hovel. Thor and Volstagg followed him.

 

Hilde was lying on the bed. Her face was plastered with sweat, her eyes glassy. There was so much blood. 

 

Thor looked away, but Loki knelt at her side. He brushed the hair from her forehead and spoke softly to her. Hilde nodded, closing her eyes.

 

Loki glanced sharply over his shoulder.

 

“Take Volstagg outside. Do not let him come back in, not until I tell you.”

 

Thor nodded. He grabbed hold of Volstagg’s arm, ignoring his friend’s protest and dragged him from the hovel. This was Loki’s domain and Thor believed he would do everything in his power to save both Hilde and the child. 

 

The night air felt bitingly cold. Volstagg sagged against him, stiffening each time Hilde cried out from within the hovel. Thor tightened his hold on him. Keeping him from bolting back inside.

 

“Trust Loki,” he said. 

 

“You don’t,” Volstagg said.

 

“I do trust him,” Thor said. 

 

He did not have to think on the words, it was the truth.

 

He had damped his mistrust, had smothered the spark Fandral had brought to life in his heart. 

 

Volstagg bowed his head at another cry from within, his eyes filling with tears. 

 

Then, suddenly, brilliantly, there was a wail. The sound of a baby crying for the first time.

 

Loki appeared at the doorway, wiping blood from his hands.

 

“You have a son,” he said. “And Hilde will be fine.”

 

Volstagg bolted into the hovel and Thor stood there awkwardly, gazing at Loki.

 

“What did you do?” he asked. “She was dying.”

 

“It was midwifery, not witchcraft,” Loki said. “The baby hadn’t turned. I assisted. Hilde will need to recover, but she will survive and that is all I care for.”

 

Thor nodded. He clapped Loki on the shoulder, his hand lingering there as he looked deep into Loki’s eyes.

 

There were no real words to express his gratitude for what Loki had done, but Thor tried anyway. 

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

**

 

Hilde named the baby Leif. 

 

Loki was the first person outside of his mother and father who was allowed to hold him.

 

Thor watched and felt something bloom in his chest.

 

He did trust Loki. He trusted him with everything that was precious to him.

 

**

 

There was something bewitching about Loki. Thor could not have put a name to the spell that Loki had cast over him, and he was certain that Loki was not conscious of having done it, but it had been cast all the same.

 

He hardly thought of Sif any longer. He did not look at any of the women in the camp. 

 

He looked only at Loki. 

 

It was obvious to everyone in the camp that Thor was in Loki’s thall. 

 

Volstagg only smiled good naturedly at him when the subject was brought up. Fandral reminded him again to be cautious. Valkyrie said nothing, only looked at him with the withering expression she always did. Thor could not tell if she approved or not. Sif, who had faded from his mind as a potential lover, shook her head and called him a fool, but she smiled and clapped him on his arm to show that there were no hard feelings behind it. Thor might be a fool, besotted with a witch, but she was unwavering in her support. 

 

Thor found excuses to be in Loki’s presence. 

 

Ever since he had built the witches cottage, he had come back to make repairs and improvements on it. Loki never begrudged his being there. Sometimes he even came out to talk to Thor, distracting him throughly from his work. 

 

Loki worked industriously in his cottage. He produced elixirs and tonics, fashioned from the very plants that grew in the forest around them. He knew what to pick, knew the best places that his ingredients grew an the dangers that lurked in the forest. He had taught the children of the camp how to distinguish between the edible and inedible. More than once Thor had seen a group of children arrive with berries for Loki to inspect. He did so carefully, talking to them as he looked over their discoveries and ferrying away any tainted, rotten or poisonous fruit. The children gorged themselves on sweet berries after their visits to him. 

 

Others came too. Men and women, young and old. Some of them sat in the cottage for a long time, and Thor heard muffled voices as he he moved around fixing the thatching on the roof or some other minor cosmetic repair. Others came and went quickly, ducking in for a few moments before fleeing back out with something clasped in their hands. 

 

The young women who sprinted from Loki’s front door today was one of the later. She glanced guilty about her, holding whatever Loki had given her clasped tight in his hands. 

 

It was more than enough to rouse Thor’s curiosity. 

 

He had been waiting for Loki to invite him inside, but the woman had left the front door open in her haste and Thor could not resist peering in. 

  
“What did you give her?” he asked.

 

Loki looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise as if he had not expected Thor to be loitering by his door. Thor waited to be told to go, to be told that Loki was not in the habit of sharing his secrets with just anyone, but instead, Loki beckended him in. 

 

Thor took a hesitant step inside, aware this was the first time since the building of the cottage that Loki had allowed him to cross the threshold. 

 

“I gave her nothing that will harm her,” Loki said, calmly. “Just something to keep her from falling pregnant.”

 

He gestured to his work bench, upon which lots of little jars sat, awaiting collection. 

 

Thor nodded, satisfied that that explained both the woman’s need to visit Loki and her haste as she left. 

 

The birth of Hilde’s child had been a traumatic experience for all of them. Both mother and child owed their lives to Loki and his skill. It was not surprising that Loki had seen a request for preventatives in the wake of such an event. 

 

As Thor watched him, Loki uncorked one of the little jars and downed a douse of the preventative for himself. 

 

“Does it work for men too?” Thor asked. “Is there someone you have your eye on?”

 

He found himself jealous at the thought of Loki finding some woman to sneak off with. It was a prospect that seemed too wrong for Thor to countinance. 

 

Loki licked his lips. 

 

“Do you know very much about witches, Thor?” 

 

Thor shook his head. “I have not had the pleasure.”

 

A smile tugged at the corner of Loki’s mouth. 

 

“It is very unusual for a male witch to be born. The magic is usually passed from mother to daughter. I am the first son born in my family line.”

 

Thor nodded. He was interested, as he was with everything to do with Loki, but he did not see what relevance this had to Loki’s need for a preventative.

 

“Magic is a powerful thing, Thor,” Loki said, setting the little jar back down. “I might beget someone with child or I might carry that child myself. The magic does not care, but it will make it happen.”

 

Thor stared at him.

 

He felt his cheeks heating up, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burning as he grasped exactly what Loki was saying.

 

Loki could fall pregnant. 

 

He was taking the preventative with the intention of lying with another man. 

 

“You look so scandalized, Thor,” Loki said, regarding him calmly. 

 

“I do not believe there will ever be a day when I do not find myself scandalized by you in some form or fashion,” Thor said.

 

Loki looked pleased at that, taking his words as a compliment. 

 

“Is there a man?” Thor ventured, the jealousy coiling within him once again.

 

Loki paused, letting his eyes roam the length of Thor’s body.

 

Thor swallowed. 

 

“No,” Loki said eventually, his eyes flickering back up to Thor’s face. “There is no man. Not yet.” he turned away from Thor, busying himself with his potions again. “I simply learned a long time ago that I should be prepared. I have been taking the preparation monthly since I matured.”

 

Now that Loki was not facing him, Thor let his gaze drop, skimming up over Loki’s long legs and the curve of his ass, the nip of his waist and the slenderness of his torso. He was a terribly beautiful man and Thor ached for him.

  
“Have there been many men, Loki?” he asked.

 

Loki’s answer didn’t matter. He might have lain with everyone, Thor’s father and Thrym included, and Thor would not have cared. As long as he could be one of Loki’s lovers, he did not care who had been there before him. 

 

Loki looked over his shoulder at him, grinning.

 

“Only one and he has not yet had me,” he said.

 

“That does not make sense,” Thor muttered, furrowing his brow.

 

Loki laughed. “It will, eventually.” 

 

**

 

It seemed that as much as Thor was drawn to Loki, Loki was caught in his orbit too. 

 

If Thor did not seek him out, then Loki would find a way to Thor’s side. Hardly a day went by where they were not together. 

 

Thor knew he should not read anything into Loki’s closeness. He was still shunned by half the encampment and merely tolerated by the rest. Thor was the only one who Loki was at ease with. It was only sensible that Loki would seek out his companionship under such circumstances. No matter how often he told himself such things, he still found his heart hopeful whenever Loki sat besides him at the fire or sought him out during the day. Like gaining the friendship of a capricious cat, Thor felt a sense of satisfaction whenever Loki chose to grace him with his presence. 

 

Today Loki had found him practising. Thor did not mind the interruption. 

 

He was aware of Loki long before the young man spoke to him. Thor heard the crunch of leaves underfoot, the soft puffs of breath as Loki stood and watched him. He was aware of Loki’s gaze on him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Loki’s gaze was always intense. 

 

Thor let him watch, focusing on his practise. 

 

“Do you like using a bow?” Loki asked finally. 

 

“It’s fine,” Thor said. “I prefer a sword, but a bow is better for long distances.”

 

They did not want to meet their foes up close. They did not have the weaponry. Better to pick off Thrym and his soldiers with arrows from a safe high point. This was not a battle that would take place out in the open on a field of war. This was an insurgency and they fought with whatever gave them an advantage. 

 

Thor set his bow down and turned to look at Loki. 

 

His heart thudded loudly in his chest. 

 

The sight of Loki before him was a softer one than Thor expected to see. Loki was not alone. He had the baby, Leif, cradled close to his chest. He had wrapped a shawl around himself to create a sling and nestled the child close against him within it. It was unexpectedly paternal. 

 

Thor took a step towards them. 

 

With what Loki had told him, the secrets of his magic, Thor could imagine another scene much like this one. In that, the child cradled so close to Loki would be theirs. 

 

“You care for him as if he is your own,” Thor said, his fingers brushing over the baby’s head, feeling the downy softness of his hair.

 

“With Hilde still recovering and Volstagg training, it is natural I should take care of Leif,” Loki said.

 

Thor said nothing. It was not natural. Loki was not their kin. He was nothing to Leif, yet he had taken a great interest in him. 

 

It spoke of the trust that Hilde had in him that she’d allow her child to be left in Loki’s care. 

 

“How goes your practice?” Loki asked. 

 

“Fine. It goes fine. I will need to ensure that we can still fight amidst distraction. It is all very well to be able to fire an arrow at a stationary target when you are simply training, but in battle is another matter.” 

 

“And can you shoot straight with a distraction?” 

 

Loki’s eyes shone with mischief and Thor knew he planned something, but he could not resist a challenge.

 

“Let me show you,” he said.

 

He took an arrow from the store beside him and nocked it, lining up his shot.

 

Thor’s focus was on the target, on hitting dead center. He had done it before, he had done it in the middle of battle. 

 

Then he felt Loki’s lips brush against his cheek, soft and warm.

 

He loosed his arrow and lost it amongst the trees. 

 

“Yes, I see that you are impervious to distraction,” Loki said. 

 

“That’s hardly the sort of distraction I meant,” Thor said through gritted teeth. “I’d like to see you try and do better.”

 

Loki held his hands out expectantly, waiting for the bow to be passed to him.

 

“No,” Thor said. 

 

He wasn’t about to hand Loki a weapon when he had a sleeping babe strapped to his chest. He wasn’t about to hand Loki a weapon under any circumstance. Their understanding was still too tentative. 

 

“How can I show you what I can do if you won’t let me?” Loki asked. 

 

“You want to show me? Then you can come and collect toll with me,” Thor said. 

 

“Really?”

 

Loki’s eyes were bright with excitement. 

 

Thor knew in that moment he could not refuse Loki. 

 

“Yes,” he promised. “The next time I collect toll, you’ll come with me.” 

  
  


**

 

Lord de Alfheimr did not usually leave the borders of his lands, Ljosalfheim, if he could help it, but the Sheriff had requested his attendance and one did not ignore such a request. Not after what had happened to Lord Odin of Asgard.

 

He took the quickest route to the Sheriff’s keep, riding through Asgard forest. His horse, a fine beast, made good time and he had not bothered to bring servants or guards to accompany him. Lord de Alfheimr had some idea of what the Sheriff would wish to speak with him about and he had not desire for such a conversation to be overheard by others. 

 

It was best to be careful about such dangerous things.

 

He rounded a bend in the road and came upon an unusual, but welcome sight. 

 

There was a young man standing at the side of the road. He looked perfectly content there, humming to himself as he took from a pouch at his belt first one rune stone - holding it up, examining it in the light - then another. Lord de Alfheimr knew this young man. He had seen him before with the Sheriff. 

 

This was the Sheriff’s witch. 

 

A very beautiful young man he was too. Lord de Alfheimr had never before had the chance to be alone with him. The Sheriff always kept a watchful eye on his witch and it was an unspoken understanding between all the local Lords and the Sheriff that they were not to press their advantage with the witch boy. 

 

The Sheriff however was not here. 

 

Lord de Alfheimr slowed his horse.

 

The witch turned his head, seeming to notice him for the first time, but Lord de Alfheimr suspected he had been aware of his presence for sometime. The witch smiled at him and Lord de Alfhimr gently tugged at the reigns of his horse, bringing the animal to a stop.

 

“Would you like your fortune read?” the witch asked. 

 

“Does our Sheriff keep you so impoverished that you are reduced to selling your skills by the roadside?” 

 

The witch laughed. It was a musical sound and Lord de Alfheimr found himself dismounting his horse, drawn to the young man.

 

Away from the reach fo the Sheriff, Lord de Alfheimr would have this man. He would take him here at the side of the road and then continue on to his meeting. 

 

“Tell me what you see,” he commanded. 

 

The witch reached for the pouch at his hip and pulled out a new rune stone. He held it up, studying it closely. 

 

“I see that you are going to be robbed,” he said, still smiling.

 

Lord de Alfheimr furrowed his brow, confused by that fortune. That was not what he expected to hear from an fortune teller. He associated these types of tricks with charltons, providing good news for a coin or two. He was certain that this witch had no powers, that he was simply the sheriff's catamite. This fortune made little sense. Lord de Alfheimr would have expected something more fawning.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

 

“He means,” said a voice from behind him. “That you are being robbed.”

 

Lord de Alfheimr turned, startled, and found himself staring at the tip of an arrow. He swallowed, looking down the length of the arrow shaft, to the smiling, handsome face of the man who accosted him. 

 

Lord de Alfheimr took a step back. The face of the man was familiar to him, like a shadow of someone he’d known a long time ago. 

 

“You...you are Odin’s son,” he said, memory rising to supply him.

 

He had thought the man killed on his crusade in Sakaar. They all did. It had made it easier for Thrym to claim Asgard with no heir apparent hiding in the shadows, waiting to arrive home at some disastrous moment. 

 

The man nodded “Thor Odinson, my Lord. And you are being robbed.”

 

“I have his coin purse,” the witch said, starling Lord de Alfheimr who had quite forgotten about him with an arrow trained on his person. 

 

He groped blindly at his belt for the purse and found it missing. He hadn’t even felt it lifted. 

 

Lord de Alfheimr glared at the witch. The witch only smiled at him, tossing his coin purse from hand to hand as he joined Odinson at his side. 

 

The conniving little fox. The little minx. He had charmed and flattered, and yet all along he had been the distraction, working with Odinson to rob him.  

 

“You...you…” Lord de Alfheimr spluttered.

 

“I would choose your words carefully,” Odinson said. He had not relaxed his stance. His bow string was still taunt. 

 

Lord de Alfheimr wisely chose not to say anything. 

 

**

 

The doors of the Hall were thrown wide with a crash.

 

Thrym did not look up. He was used to temper tantrums for the Lords. They came when he called them, mindful of what he could do to them if they delayed, but they were still Lords and accustomed to dictating rather than being dictated to. He humored them, letting them having their moment before he swept on to more important business.

 

“My Lord Sheriff, is this your idea of control? I have been robbed! Assaulted in your own woods!”

 

That caused Thrym to look up. 

 

Lord de Alfheimr stood before him, shaking with fury.

 

“Robbed?” Thrym asked. 

 

“They took my coin purse. The money I was bringing….”

 

“Yes,” Thrym said, interrupting the man. 

 

The Hall was not a private enough place to discuss the contribution Lord de Alfheimr had been bringing. 

 

“Tell me of these men who accosted you,” he went on. 

 

“One of them was Odin’s son!” Lord de Alfheimr cried. “You told us he was dead! You said he had been killed in the war and now I find him alive and in the woods of Asgard. He could ruin  _ everything! _ ”

 

It was clear that Lord de Alfheimr’s experience had left him shaken. His fear had seen him lose control of his senses. If he continued to talk so rashly, Thrym could have no choice but to silence him. 

 

“He is of no importance. A common thief and an outlaw. When he is caught, he will be hanged.”

 

Thrym waved a hand, instructing Lord de Alfheimr to sit. The man did so cautiously.

 

“I believe you are in shock, Lord de Alfheimr,” Thrym said. He spoke quietly, but his words were commands and Lord de Alfheimir listened. “I will have wine fetched for you. Then we can retire and you can tell me everything, do not spare a detail. Odinson will hang. You have my word on that.”

 

“And your witch?” Lord de Alfheimir asked, catching Thrym off-guard.

 

“Loki? What of him?” 

 

“He was with Odinson. He was helping him,” Lord de Alfheimir said.

 

Thrym stood suddenly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. 

 

He wanted nothing more than to run Lord de Alfheimir through, to stop his talk and certainly to stop him speaking of Loki. The jealousy that swirled within him now was unpalatable, driving Thrym to think madly.  _ Loki and Odinson _ . It was what he had feared, what he had tried to prevent, but some things it seemed could not be prevented. 

 

He squeezed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, calming himself.

 

Some things could not be prevented, like his plan. 

 

This was unfortunate, unwanted, but it could be undone. Odinson would die. Thrym would succeed. 

 

“Do not concern yourself with the witch, Lord de Alfheimir,” he said. “I will deal with him.”

 

******

 

“And where did you learn to pickpockets like that?”

 

The awed look on Thor’s face was enough to make Loki giddy. His first attempt at toll collection had been a flawless success, but the fact that Thor now trusted him was more dear to him than the gold they had taken. 

 

Never before had Thor asked for his assistance. Never before had Loki been permitted to take part in these toll collections. Now he felt as if he was beginning to belong. He would not just be the witch, living among them but always separate, always different. He would be one of them. 

 

“I taught myself,” he said, grinning widely. 

 

Thor did not remember, and Loki only felt a slight plang of sadness in his chest. It had been a very long time ago, even though it had been life changing for Loki. 

 

“What are we going to do with this now?” he asked, tossing the coin purse to Thor who caught it easily. 

 

“I’ll show you,” Thor said. 

 

Loki followed him back to the camp, uncertain of the way to and from the hidden village. Until now, he’d not been trusted to leave. No one had ever said anything, but Loki knew he was always watched. Unspoken, there had been an understanding that he had to stay, had to prove that he was not a spy in their ranks.

 

Now that he had saved Hilde and her child, it seemed he was finally accepted and trusted as one of them. 

 

Thor stopped by one of the many little hovels that had been erected to accommodate the outlaws and their families. Loki would never have given it a second look if Thor had not taken him there. 

 

Sif sat outside, shaving down wood for arrows. She looked up at Thor, then glanced quickly to Loki.

 

She raised an eyebrow and Thor nodded, almost imperceptibly.

 

Sif was a guard, Loki realised. Her sitting here wasn’t simply for her to work on building their supply of arrows, but for her to guard whatever was inside this room. Now Thor was trusting him with this secret. 

 

Sif got to her feet, collecting the pile of arrow shafts she’d trimmed and cut to size.

 

“These are ready for tips,” she said. “I’ll let you be.” 

 

Thor watched her walked away, while Loki firmly kept his eyes on Thor. 

 

He felt a stab of something  - jealousy - in his heart. Sif was a beautiful woman and Thor clearly trusted her. She was not like Loki, she was not a witch who might betray them at any moment. She had not had to earn her place among them. It had been freely given.

 

Loki wanted that. He wanted it with a grasping greediness that he couldn’t contain. He wanted to belong by Thor’s side, to be accepted there. He wanted it to be easy, but nothing in his life was. 

 

Thor pushed open the hovel door. 

 

“Here, you first,” he said, gesturing for Loki to go ahead of him. 

 

Loki did, uncertain of what he would find. 

 

What awaited him behind the door was nothing he could ever have expected and he saw immediately why Sif had been left on guard outside. 

 

It was gold. A whole roomful of it. In chests stacked on top of each other , in woven sacks with gold coins spilling onto the floor. Everywhere Loki looked there was more of it, catching the light and dazzling him. 

 

It was more gold than he’d ever thought to see in his life. 

 

For a moment, Loki wondered where it had all come from, but then he realized this must be the toll that Thor and his followers had been collecting. 

 

“So this is where you keep your spoils,” he said.

 

He picked up a golden chalice that was close at hand, turning it over. It was heavy in hands, a piece for show rather than a useful object. Loki would have coveted it once, but now he set it down again.

 

Thor watched him closely.

 

“Is this a test?” Loki asked.

 

“No,” Thor said. “This gold was meant for Thrym’s pocket. You know him better than I. Do you know what he intended to do with it?”

 

Loki glanced at Thor, then back to the gold. 

 

There was no malice in Thor’s words, no accusation this time. He wanted the knowledge that Loki had, nothing more.

 

“Thrym is ambitious,” he said thoughtfully, taking a step further into the room, looking at the piles of gold coins. “He was worried about you, about your attacks. He thought you’d draw the attentions of the King.”

 

Thor nodded.

 

“Then we must gain the King’s attention.”

 

Thor spoke with a confidence that betrayed his privilege. He was a Lord’s son, used to being obeyed. He believed it would be so simple to gain an audience with the King and that they would be listened to and more than simply listened to but believed. 

 

“I am not eager to see the capital,” Loki said quietly. “They do not look kindly on witches.”

 

“I am not proposing that you or I leave, we have a duty here,” Thor said. He took a step towards Loki, cupping his face in his large hands. “I would not put you in harms way.”

 

Loki nodded.

 

He relished the feeling of Thor’s hands on him, the promise of Thor’s words. 

 

“Then who?” he asked.

 

“Heimdall. I will send Heimdall,” Thor said decisively. “He is my most trusted friend, a man of gravity and I know that if he is able to gain an audience with the King, he will be listened to.”

 

Loki did not share Thor’s belief, but he did not say so. Heimdall was an outlaw and before that a servant to an estate and a lord which no longer existed. For all his good qualities, there was no reason to believe he would be able to convince the King, nor even have the chance to plead their case. 

 

“Besides, I fear for him,” Thor said. “I know he would be angry with me, assigning him a weakness for his blindness, but I do not want anything to befall him.”

 

“Your weakness is that heart of yours,” Loki murmured. “It bleeds for everyone.”

 

Thor smiled at him. “We cannot all be little vipers like you, Loki.” 

 

He stroked his thumb across Loki’s cheek and Loki shivered. His heart sat coiled in his breast, waiting to strike. 

 

Loki did not allow it this time. 

 

Soon, but not yet. 

 

Regretfully, he pulled away from Thor’s touch. He did not miss the flash of disappointment in Thor’s eyes.

 

“You should let Heimdall know of his mission. Even if we cannot say for certain what Thrym wants this gold for, the King must know that his subjects are suffering under his Sheriff's rule.” 

 

******

 

Heimdall listened thoughtfully to Thor’s request. He agreed without hesitation that he would undertake the task. 

 

A horse was found and saddled, bags were filled with supplies. Heimdall took a small pouch of coins with him, hidden, in case it became necessary to pay his way to an audience with the King. 

 

Thor escorted Heimdall to the forest edge, leading his horse. Loki came along too, more from a desire to stay close to Thor than for any concern for Heimdall. 

 

Thor clasped his friend’s hand tightly when they reached the edge of the forest, handing the reins back to him.

 

“Good luck, my friend,” he said. 

 

“And to you,” Heimdall said. He turned his head, and although his eyes could not see, they fixed themselves on the spot where Loki loitered in the tree line. 

 

“Watchover him, little witch. See no harm befalls him.” 

 

Loki nodded. He knew that Heimdall could not see the movement of his head, but the man seemed to sense it all the same. It was unnerving, as if he had a second sight that was more powerful than the one he had lost. 

 

They said nothing further. Heimdall clicked his tongue, instructing the horse to walk on and it did, picking up it’s pace to a slowly until it reached a trot. 

 

Loki came to stand beside Thor and they both watched until the man on the horse was out of sight.

 

**

 

Once Hilde had fully recovered, there was a party to celebrate Leif’s birth.

 

It was needed. 

 

There was ale and mead flowing; dancing and music. Loki amused with some slight of hand tricks, picking pockets as if it were nothing to him. He returned each of his stolen items to their bemused owner with a smile on his face. Thor watched him fondly, his gaze never straying too far. 

 

Loki’s smile was luminous. He drew Thor’s attention wherever he went. 

 

It seemed the most natural progression when Loki approached him with a flask in hand, offering to share it with him.

 

“I have something I want to show you,” he said. 

 

They climbed the rope ladder into the trees, into the home Thor had built for himself in the branches. Thor knew it was Lordly, to like to be so high up looking down on his fellows, but it gave him a sense of peace to be able to see them and their goings on. He liked to sit up in his treehouse home and watch over them. It was a vantage point and it had been all Thor’s own until Loki joined him now. 

 

“Sit,” Loki said, pushing the flask into Thor’s hands and waving him away.

 

Thor did as he was told, perching on the end of his bed. He took a swig from the flask, smiling as Loki emptied his pockets of a number of strange things, laying them out one by one. It seemed as if Loki’s pockets contained a never ending supply of fascinating objects. 

 

A pestle and mortar appeared, then two small bottles of peculiar coloring. Loki unstoppered these, pouring the contents into the mortar. He picked up the pestle and began to grind, working the ingredients together. Thor watched him, feeling warm from the mead and the knowledge that he and Loki were alone together.

 

“This will give us an advantage over Thrym,” Loki said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Thor was looking.

 

“What are you making?” Thor asked, peering at the pestle and mortar. 

 

All he could see was a black powder. He had no idea how that was supposed to help in their fight against Thrym. 

 

“Is it a poison?” he guessed.

 

He set down the flask of mead and stood up, stepping closer to get a better view of Loki’s concoction. 

 

“No,” Loki said, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s harmless now, in this state at least.”

 

He took a pinch of the black powder and sprinkled it on the table top. As Thor watched, he clicked his fingers. A spark jumped from between his fingertips and landed on the powder. It caught and a second later the power exploded in a puff of smoke and a burst of light.

 

Thor jerked back, startled. 

 

“When you add fire, it combusts,” Loki continued, looking inordinately proud of himself. 

 

“So you’re an alchemist as well as a witch,” Thor said, watching the table carefully in case the powder ignited again.

 

“A witch has to be many things,” Loki said. “Alchemist, midwife, healer, soothsayer.”

 

“You have taken good care of these people, Loki.” 

 

“Only until you returned home,” Loki said quietly.  “You are their true lord and master. You are the one they need.”

 

“I am the master of none,” Thor said, the words coming forcefully. 

 

“You are,” Loki insisted. “You cannot change what you are, Thor. You are these people’s protector, their guardian. They follow you because they believe in you, because they believe you will restore them.”

 

“What about you?” Thor asked, stepping closer, no longer fearful of Loki’s powder. 

 

“Me?” Loki asked.

 

“Why are you here? Why do you care so much if I reclaim my title?” Thor pressed. 

 

He was close to Loki now, close enough to crowd him in against the table, close enough to feel the beat of Loki’s heart. 

 

Loki looked up at him, unguarded for a moment, and Thor saw in his eyes the reason that Loki cared.

 

He placed his hand on Loki’s chest, atop his heart that beat so loud and so fast. 

 

“You love me,” he said, the words a revelation. 

 

Loki nodded. 

 

“For how long?”

 

Loki exhaled, his words falling out in a little huff of laughter.

 

“Since the first time I met you.”

 

Thor furrowed his brow.

 

“In your cottage? But I was awful to you.” 

 

Loki shook his head. “We met before. We met as boys. I took your coin purse and you demanded a kiss from in payment.”

 

The memory, long dormant, rose in Thor’s mind. He still could not say what had prompted him to demand a kiss from Loki, but he had known as soon as he looked at Loki and his pretty, pouting mouth that he wanted a kiss from him. It had not been Thor’s first kiss. He had stolen plenty more before and he would go on to steal a hundred more, but there had been something about Loki as he’d been then, defiant even when caught red-handed, that had made Thor determined to steal a kiss from him. 

 

“It was me you came to my father’s Hall for,” Thor said, almost doubting the words. They seemed too wonderful to be true. 

 

“It was all for you,” Loki confirmed. 

 

“I am the man who will have you,” Thor continued, thinking of everything Loki had said, the hints he had dropped.

 

Loki wound his arms around Thor’s neck, pulling him closer still. 

 

“The only one,” he said firmly. 

 

Loki tilted his chin up and caught Thor’s mouth in a kiss. It was hungry, unpractised, full of desperation and teeth. Thor balled his fingers up into the front of Loki’s robes and held him fast, returning the kiss. He guided Loki, taking control and Loki was only too happy to let him, opening his mouth and letting Thor plunder him. 

 

Loki had been waiting for him. Loki had been in love with him. It was almost too much for Thor to comprehend. He thought of all the ways he had almost ruined this, how he could have driven Loki away with his jealousy and his eagerness to believe the worst. Thor could apologise until his throat was hoarse, but he knew he could never say sorry enough for the things he had believed and the things he had said to Loki.

 

He would count himself eternally lucky that Loki had not abandoned him when Thor had proved so undeserving of his devotion. 

 

Loki broke their kiss, his eyes dark with desire.

 

“Thor,” he murmured.

 

“I love you,” Thor said. 

 

Loki closed his eyes, a giddy smile crossing his lips. 

 

“Say it again.”

 

“I love you,” Thor said, picking him up and twirling him around. “I love you.”

 

Loki laughed, a musical sound and Thor felt his heart lighten. Loki had bewitched him in body and soul. He had been in so many of Thor’s thoughts, had consumed his dreams and now he was here in Thor’s arms and Thor would never let him go again. 

 

He lowered Loki down so he could kiss him again, feeling Loki’s smile against his lips.

 

“Take me to bed,” Loki said. “I have waited far too long for you, Thor.” 

 

Thor did not need to be asked twice. He hoisted Loki into his arms, carrying him to his bed as if Loki was his bride.

 

When he had returned home he had dreamed a the bride he would find. The woman he had imagined had paled in contrast to the reality of Loki. There could be no other in Thor’s bed. He would pledge himself over and over to Loki.

 

Thor’s bed was narrow, just room enough for the two of them if they lay close pressed together. That suited Thor well as he did not want to stop touching Loki if he could help it. They undressed clumsily, stealing kisses and trying to free themselves from their clothes without having to leave the warmth of the other’s embrace. 

 

Thor got himself naked first, then helped Loki with his clothing. There were far too many buttons, too many laces and ribbons. 

 

“You wear too much,” Thor said, finally divesting Loki of his under things. 

 

Loki only hummed, tilting his head so Thor could mouth at his neck. 

 

They rocked together, slotting together perfectly. They could have been made for each other. Thor began to fancy that they were. He and Loki had been placed upon the earth to find each other, to have a love so full and deep that it went beyond mortal comprehension. Loki had always known, but Loki was a witch and in touch with everything ethereal. 

 

Loki took hold of one of Thor’s hands, bringing it up to his mouth. He traced the lines across the palm of it with his tongue and Thor watched hungrily. 

 

“That is your love line,” Loki said, glancing up at him and obviously enjoying the effect his touch had on Thor. “It matches mine.”

 

Thor swallowed, unable to voice the thoughts he had at that moment. It seemed impossible to him that Loki could have known, could have trusted his fate to something as simple as the lines on his palm, but Loki had been proved right. 

 

It was humbling to know just how long and how passionately Loki had loved him. 

 

Thor kissed him again, trying to show Loki the depth of his own devotion in that kiss. 

 

They ground together, cocks brushing; the friction pleasant but not enough to be what either truly wanted. 

 

“Take me,” Loki said, breaking the kiss.

 

Thor looked at him. Unthinking, he brought a hand to rest against Loki’s stomach. 

 

Loki’s cheeks coloured, but he nodded.

 

“Yes,” he said, suddenly nervous. “I stopped taking the preparation. I knew that you and I…”

 

He trailed off, but Thor understood what the unspoken words were. He and Loki had been drawing closer and closer, reaching this point together that had always been inevitable. Loki had sensed it would be soon and he had readied himself.

 

“Are you certain?” Thor asked.

 

Loki nodded. There was no hint of fear in his eyes, nothing but desire. 

 

Loki wanted this. He wanted Thor. If a child resulted from this union, then it would be loved. Loki had assisted with Leif’s birth, had seen the very real danger he could be in if he let his magic proceed unhindered and yet he made this choice. 

 

It sent a thrill through Thor to imagine Loki coming away from this pregnant with his child. 

 

“Loki,” he said, words failing him again. 

 

Loki kissed him and that was better than talking. 

 

When they parted now, Thor looked around his room, wondering what he could use to ease the way. 

 

Loki followed his gaze, a smile stretching his lips. He took hold of Thor’s hand again and this time brought it to rest against the curve of his ass. Thor’s fingers dipped into the crease, brushing against Loki’s hole and found it wet already.

 

He looked at Loki questioningly. 

 

“Magic,” Loki said, his smile wide now. 

 

Thor wondered if this was a spell or the instinctive work of Loki’s magic. He didn’t ask. The thought was fleeting. He rubbed his fingers across Loki’s hole, back and forth until he felt it give a little under his touch. Slowly, carefully, he eased one finger in. 

 

Loki pressed his head against Thor’s shoulder, breathing deeply. Thor tried to gage if he was in pain, but Loki’s face was hidden by a wave of hair. 

 

“Loki?” he asked.

 

“Keep going,” Loki said. “It feels odd, but I don’t dislike it.”

 

He wiggled, pressing back against the finger inside him. 

 

Thor continued the slow exploration until he had two fingers inside of him and Loki was gasping, his mouth wet against Thor’s shoulder, arching back into the touch. 

 

Thor had lain with men before when he was on campaign and he knew that two fingers would not be enough to stretch Loki for him. He also knew that it would be easier if Loki would lie on his stomach or move to his hands and knees.

 

“Loki,” he murmured, trying to get his attention. “Loki, let me move you. It will be better if you lie on your stomach.”

 

“No!” Loki said, the force of his answer taking Thor by surprise. Loki looked up at him, his cheeks two spots of red - from anger or shame Thor didn’t know. “No, you’ll not have me like that. Not like some whore.”

 

Guilt flooded Thor. 

 

That was what Loki imagined, that Thor would turn him on to his front and rut into him like Loki was bought and paid for. It was Thor’s fault that Loki imagined that. Thor was the one who had accused him of being nothing more than a whore. 

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Loki, it will be easier.”

 

“Maybe,” Loki said, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his hips, drawing Thor’s fingers deeper into him. “But I want it like this. I want you to kiss me and hold me. I want you to love me.”

 

“I do love you,” Thor said. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Loki’s mouth, then one to his jaw, then down to kiss his shoulders. “I love you more than anything in this life or the next.”

 

Loki trembled, a soft sigh escaping him. 

 

If this was what Loki wanted then this was what Thor would give him. He would have Loki like this and he would kiss and touch and love and have Loki sated in his arms. 

 

Thor pressed a third finger inside and Loki stilled. His hands pressed against Thor’s chest. He didn’t push Thor away, just stroked and touched, enjoying another sensation as he adjusted to the stretch of Thor’s fingers inside of him.

 

Thor kissed his neck and Loki turned his head, peeking through the dark curtain of his hair. He smiled softly at Thor, shaking his head so his hair fell back away from his face and Thor could kiss his mouth again. Thor did, stretching his fingers out inside Loki, holding him wide open. Loki whimpered into the kiss, rocking his hips back and Thor was satisfied now that Loki was stretched enough to take him. 

 

He withdrew his fingers, enjoying the way Loki moved against him, trying to keep them inside him. 

 

“Loki, your magic…” he whispered.

 

Loki reached between them, wrapping his long, slim fingers around Thor’s cock. He stroked his hand up and down the length - once, twice - and then Thor was slick as if Loki’s fingers had been coated in oil. 

 

Thor marvelled at it, at the small feats of magic that were beyond anything he would have believed possible.

 

“Please,” Loki moaned, beginning to guide Thor’s cock.

 

Thor let him. He let Loki take control of this moment.

 

Loki pressed the head of Thor’s cock against his hole, rocking against him, testing the sensation and feel of Thor pressed against him there. Slowly, so slowly, he moved, opening to Thor, guiding his cock inside.

 

Thor gritted his teeth. Loki was so tight inside, even with stretching, and this position only made him tighter still. He rubbed his hands across Loki’s back, trying to help him relax, worried that it would be too much for him.

 

Loki’s head was bowed again, his breath coming out in shuddering gasps. 

 

“Loki,” Thor whispered again, frightened he was hurting him.

 

“You’re big,” Loki muttered. He raised his head and Thor saw that his eyes were wet. 

 

Thor tried to pull out, but Loki grabbed hold of him, stopping him from moving. 

 

“Slow,” he murmured. “Go slow.”

 

Thor did as he was told. He rolled his hips slowly, his thrusts shallow. Loki held him tightly, his nails dug into Thor’s arm, leaving little half-moon scars behind. Thor watched him, ready to stop if Loki could not take it, but Loki began to move back against him, to welcome Thor’s thrusts.

 

In this position, Thor could not fuck into him deeply, nor did he think Loki would be able to take all of him like that just yet. It was more than enough to be with him like this, to have Loki held in his arms and have this closeness, this connection. 

 

Thor took hold of Loki’s cock, wanting him to enjoy this moment as much as possible. He found it half-hard, but with a few strokes of his hand Loki was hard again and weeping, spend beading at the tip of his cock and helping to ease Thor’s strokes. 

 

“Yes,” Loki breathed, bucking into his hand. “Oh, that feels...yes.”

 

He arched his back, beautiful as he moved between Thor’s cock and his hand, fucking up into one and back onto the other. He took his pleasure, greedy for everything Thor gave him. 

 

It was intoxicating to watch him. Thor found just as much pleasure in watching Loki as he did being inside him. It was a heady scensation, knowing he was the one who was causing Loki’s needy little moans and the frantic twitch of his hips. 

 

“Oh, I love you,” Loki cried out, coming over Thor’s hand as he did. 

 

Thor held him close, stroking him until Loki was shuddering and over-sensitive, completely spent in Thor’s hand. 

 

Thor was so close now, chasing his own end. He rolled his hips, still going slow, mindful of how stretched Loki was, how sore he would feel now pleasure was no longer clouding his sense. 

 

Loki reached down between them, wrapping his fingers around the length of Thor’s cock that was not buried inside him, gently stroking and Thor came like that.

 

His cock softened and gently he eased out of Loki, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

 

Loki looked exhausted, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath but he smiled at Thor, thoroughly satisfied. 

 

“It was worth waiting for,” he said. 

 

Thor laughed. 

 

He raised his hand to his mouth, licking away Loki’s spend and Loki moaned brokenly, his eyes fixed on Thor.

 

“Next time, I want to spend in your mouth,” he murmured dazedly, reaching for Thor to tangle his fingers in Thor’s hair and drag him down into an open mouthed kiss, tasting himself.

 

Thor wrapped his arms around Loki, content now to kiss him over and over again.

 

Next time he would do whatever Loki wanted with him. He would touch and taste every part of him, would cover him from head to toe in his kisses. There would be no part of Loki hidden from him. He would know all of him and love him full. 

 

“Next time,” he promised. 

 

They lay like that, tangled together, trading kisses until neither could hold his eyes open any longer. 

 

They slept dreamless and contented, knowing only the beating of each other's heart. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Please, my Lord!” 

Thrym did not listen to the pleas. He had heard too many people begging to be affected by it any longer. 

“Will you tell me what I want to know?” he asked.

The man in front of him, a snivelling wretch, bowed his head. He had born his torture about as well as one of his rank could be expected to. Thrym had drawn tears before he had drawn blood. 

Thrym had caught the man with stolen property. He was lenient with his punishments. In truth, he could have the man hanged, but Thrym suspected that the man was not a thief himself, but only the unlucky beneficiary of Thor Odinson’s charity. 

“Tell me, did Odinson or his men give you those chickens?”

The man nodded.

“And was the witch with them?”

Again, the man nodded.

Thrym allowed his lips to thin into a grim smile. 

He had offered a reward for news of Loki’s whereabouts but nothing had been forthcoming. He had offered an even higher reward for the location of Odinson’s outlaw encampment, but that had brought no response either. The local populace had reacted exactly how they had reacted to Odinson’s coming. They had kept their heads down and remained tight lipped. 

Thrym looked down at the man crouched in front of him, curling his lip. This was what Thrym had been reduced to; torturing peasants for answers. 

Thrym would let him live, for now.

Turning, Thrym left the cell, shutting and locking it behind him. The sounds of the man’s pitiful weeping followed him as he climbed the steps from the dungeon. 

Thrym would have to take Loki back by force. There was no time left to delay, not when Thrym had received such disquieting news from the Capital.

“You!” he snapped, reaching the top of the stairs. 

The soldier standing there saluted him. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Gather the men together. We have been too kind to the outlaws in the woods. We have tolerated them for too long.” 

“Sir?” the soldier asked, a hopeful looking coming to his face. 

“We are going to find their den and burn them out like the vermin they are.” 

**

They awoke to sounds of chaos. 

Loki sat up, disoriented, hugging the quilt to his chest while Thor leapt from bed, pulling on his scattered clothes. 

“What’s happening?” Loki asked.

“I don’t know,” Thor grunted, pulling on his boots. “Stay here. I’ll find out what it is.”

“No,” Loki protested, struggling out of the bed, quilt still wrapped around him for decencys sake. 

Thor caught hold of him, hands framing Loki’s face, and kissed him softly. 

“Loki, get dressed and stay here,” he said, every inch the Lord that Loki knew him to be. His tone brokered no edge for argument. 

“Fine,” Loki muttered. 

There was a scream and Thor whirled around, away from Loki, a new urgency in him. 

Loki dropped the quilt and began to dress, his aches almost forgotten. 

Thor rushed to the door, opening it slightly, just enough to get a glimpse of what was happening. He slammed the door shut and turned back to Loki, his face hardened.

“Soldiers,” he said grimly. “Thrym has found us.”

He reached for his dagger, pulling it from his belt and pressed it into Loki’s hands. Loki recognised it as his own, the one that Thrym had given him originally. He nearly dropped it, disgusted by the memory, but Thor wrapped his hand around Loki’s, focing his filgers close around the hilt.

“Keep this, protect yourself. I will come back for you,” he said. 

“Come back for me? You want me to stay here?” Loki asked incredulously.

Thor nodded. Loki was about to argue, to protest that his place was at Thor’s side, when Thor kissed him again. It was final, the punctuation to mark the end of their argument. Thor would not let him come, would not risk Loki. It was as foolish and courtley as Thor himself was, a notion born of valour that Thor wouldn’t let his beloved fight for him, but Loki understood. 

He had always known that this would be Thor’s folly. That he would ride out into danger and Loki would have to wait for him. It was his obligation, his duty to his people. 

“Come back to me safe,” Loki whispered, weaving magic into his blessing. 

Thor kissed him again, then he was off. 

Loki tucked the dagger into his belt and pulled on his boots. All around him he could hear the sounds of battle, the clang of swords, the shouts and cries, but in Thor’s treetop home, it was strangely muted. Loki was removed from it, too far above them for it seem real.

Then a sound rose, cutting through the others, too loud and piercing to be anything but real.

It was the wail of a baby. 

“Leif!” Loki cried out.

Thor wanted him to stay put, wanted Loki removed from danger, but Loki couldn’t. He was as Thor was, dedicated to these people and this land. He couldn’t remain up in the clouds while they faced danger on the ground and he wouldn’t leave an innocent child to be slaughtered. 

Stepping out, Loki was hit by the scent before anything else. The acrid, billowing scent of smoke. It assaulted him, filling his mouth and nose, forcing him back. Loki blinked through tears, fighting his way through the smoke. 

Below him, the whole forest appeared to be on fire. 

Wherever Loki went, wherever he called home, he was not safe. This destruction followed him. The fire consumed everything that Loki had ever held dear. It had driven him from the Odinson Hall, it had driven him from his own cottage and now it would drive him from the forest. 

The cry came again, lifted up along with the smoke. 

This time, Loki would not be driven out. He would not run from the fire. 

He would stay and protect this home.

Rushing to the rope ladder, Loki climbed down as quickly as he could. He could feel the heat of the flame lick against him, could hardly see through the smoke, but he heard Leif’s crying and that was all he needed to guide him. His feet came to rest on the ground and Loki ran, running in the direction of that sound. 

He could see now that everything was ablaze. Soldiers with torches had set fire to everything they could reach. They had torched the wood and straw, then waited for the poor souls inside to flee so they could run them through. Loki didn’t look at the fallen. Dead or dying, he could not help them. His priority had to be to the living. It had to be to the child. 

Loki found Volstagg’s homestead alight. He could not see Hilde nor Volstagg, nor did he want to imagine either of them being the bodies he had passed. Leif’s cries were pitifully loud now. He had been left by Thrym’s soldiers to burn to death. A defenseless child left to be consumed by the flames. 

Loki rammed his shoulder into the door. He burst into the smoke filled hovel, once again blinded, but he did not need to see. He followed the sound, coming upon Leif’s crib. He hoisted the baby into his arms, hiding him from the worst of the heat and the smog, then staggered from the hovel.

Loki fell into the light, Leif clutched to his chest, as behind them the thatched roof, no longer able to withstand the flames, caved in. 

Loki gasped for breath, rolling onto his back. Leif’s face was red, eyes screwed up with tears, but he was alive. 

Slowly, carefully, Loki got to his feet. 

He could hardly climb back into the trees. He would be trapping himself and Leif, waiting either for the fire to consume them or for the soldiers to find them. He had no idea where Thor was; he did not consider for a moment that Thor might be one of the dead. Thor would not die here, Loki knew that. He felt it in his bones. 

Their love lines did not end here. It was too soon for either of them.

Thor would find him again. 

What Loki needed to do was get Leif to safety. 

He ran for the cover of the trees, the parts of the forest that was not on fire. He was not the only one. Others had realised that they could not fight and survive an ambush and had chosen flight.

Sif was one of them. She was heralding a group of survivors to safety; old men and women, little children. Those who could not fight. Those who did not deserve to die by the sword.

“Loki,” she called, waving him to her. “Where is Thor?”

Loki said nothing. He had nothing to tell her. Instead, he thrust the squirming, screaming bundle in his arms towards her.

“Please, take him,” he said. “I need to go back. I need…”

Sif took hold of Leif hesitantly, unused to holding a baby. She nestled him in the crook of her arm and it seemed unnatural to see. The sword in her hand fit her much better.

“Loki,” she said.

Loki didn’t wait to hear what she might say to him. He turned, heading back towards the fire.

Back towards Thor.

They would not end today and that was enough to give him courage. He would find Thor, he would bring Thor to safety. 

He would not leave and flee on his own. He would not wait for his fate to find him again. He would take charge of his own destiny, even if it meant walking back into the fire.

“Loki!” Sif shouted, but he didn’t listen.

He ran again. 

Loki reached the camp in time to see the fire had reached Thor’s home, was licking at the walls and the floorboards and in that instant Loki remembered. 

He remembered the black powder he had shown Thor the night before. He remembered his alchemy and what it could do.

Only a little of the powder was needed, and there had been so much of it there.

The tree exploded. The force of the blast knocked Loki from his feet. 

The world around him grew black and that was the last that Loki knew. 

**

He awoke with a pounding in his head. 

Loki blinked slowly, trying to gather his wits about him. The room was too bright, filled with sunshine that seemed blinding every time he tried to open his eyes. It was quite too and Loki found that unnerving. He had grown used to the sounds of others and the silence now was eerie. He was no longer on the hard ground where he had fallen, but laid out on a soft bed. There were pillows under his head; set there with care. His boots had been stripped off. His clothing too. He’d been dressed in a shapeless white gown, too close to a shroud for comfort. Someone had washed him, washed away the traces of the smoke and ash that should have clung to him. 

It felt all too near to the laying out of a corpse for Loki.

He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain in his head, and looked around the room.

It was then that Loki realised he wasn’t alone. 

Thrym stood at the foot of the bed, silently watching him. 

Loki rolled on to his side, away from both the light and Thrym’s gaze. He thought he might be sick. 

“You’re awake finally,” Thrym stated. 

Loki ignored him.

“This is the room I had laid out for you. Do you like it?” Thrym asked. 

Loki closed his eyes, breathing deeply to try to control the nausea stirring in him.

“Odinson is dead,” Thrym said.

Loki opened his eyes. He looked back at Thrym, unable to believe him.

“You lie!” 

Thor couldn’t be dead. Loki would know it. He would feel it, the way he had felt that Thor was his destined. 

Thrym smiled grimly.

“That gains some reaction from you at least. Your lover is dead, Loki. His rebellion broken and scattered.”

“No,” Loki hissed.

He got unsteadily to his feet, not certain what he meant to do. He had some mad idea that he might go to the forest, might return to the camp and find out for himself. 

Thrym stopped him before he reached the door and Loki sagged unhappily against him, too weak to continue to support himself.

“I will put the men I captured to death,” Thrym said. “And then that will be the end.” 

“No,” Loki said weakly. He shoved at Thrym, trying to force some distance between them, but Thrym held him tighter still. 

“The King is gravely ill. I received the news from the Capital a few days ago and he has no issue to the throne. His most likely successor his Helblindi Laufeyson, his cousin.”

Loki swayed in Thrym’s hold. Laughter bubbled up in him along with the nausea. Thrym was not making any sense. Loki could not follow his line of thought, could not understand why the future King had anything to do with Thor or himself. 

“Why does that concern me?” 

“Do you know who your father is?” Thrym asked.

He reached out, stroking one finger down the side of Loki’s cheek. Loki turned his head away, trying to escape the touch. 

“Some Lord. What of it?” he bit out.

“I have done my research on you, Loki and your ancestry. I would have had you as my catimite if you were only a witch’s child, but you are far more than that. Powerful blood flows in your veins,” Thrym continued. His finger traced lower, down across Loki’s jaw and over his throat, pausing against the pulse in Loki’s neck, feeling the blood he spoke of pump around Loki’s body. “Your father is Lord Laufey.”

Loki turned his head sharply, looking at Thrym.

“I see you have heard of him,” Thrym continued, a nasty smile crossing his lips. “He is the King’s Uncle and Helblindi’s father. You are of royal blood, Loki. You are nobility.”

“I am not,” Loki said. He shook his head, refusing to believe the words. 

“You are a bastard, but you are still his son. You are still my link to the throne,” Thrym murmured. “You are the King’s cousin.”

“No,” Loki said.

Thrym wrapped his arms around him, drawing Loki in close to him. 

“I will take you as my bride, Laufeyson. Your magic and your bloodline will crown me the new King.”

“No!” Loki cried, but he was silenced by Thrym’s mouth against his own.

He struggled against the kiss, shoving his hands against Thrym’s chest, but he was weak with grief and his flight from the fire. Thrym caught his hands and held him tight.

“I will do this properly, Loki. We will be wed,” he said. “Only then will I have you.” 

**

Thor had stood at the end of battles, but the destruction before him was worse than any battlefield he had ever seen. He had known the names and the life stories of each of the dead, had led them to this awful end. He had been the reason they were in this place. They had believed in him as their Lord and he had failed them. 

When he came upon Fandral’s body, he wept openly. 

Thor dug the graves himself. 

He would not let Valkyrie help him. 

“This is my fault,” he said. “If I had not gone to war against Thrym, this would never have happened. These people would be alive.” 

Valkyrie shook her head.

“You know what Thrym has been doing to them. They might have starved to death or been hanged for poaching. You gave them a chance to die with a sword in their hand. Do not rob them of that honour by blaming yourself.”

Thor looked at the little cluster of graves. He knew that none of the men and women he had buried he expected their lives to end. They hadn’t been trained soldiers, aware of the risks they faced and at peace with them; they’d been farmers and housemaids. 

He’d been the one to put the sword in their hand. 

“My pride led us to this,” Thor said.

“You gave these people pride, Thor.”

Thor got to his feet, ignoring her words. 

Instead he looked at the scarred and burned trees, the ruined homes. In one horrible battle, he had lost everything. His people, the survivors, were scattered. He did not know if they had been captured or if they had escaped. Loki was missing. Thor had searched for him among the dead, but he had not found him. Thor prayed that Thrym’s men had not found him. 

Valkyrie stepped in front of him. When Thor looked away, she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Thor, listen to me,” she commanded. 

Her words went straight through Thor, reaching the core of him that was still a soldier and he responded, raising his eyes to meet hers, straightening his back and standing to attention. 

Valkyrie let go of him, her expression softening slightly.

“I followed you, Thor. Not because of what you promised me, but because of who you are. You made me want to be a better person. You made me believe in this quest, in setting these people free and restoring these lands. I was a soldier of fortune, loyal to whoever paid best, but now I have something to believe in, something worth dying for and that is all because of you.” 

“I would rather you didn’t die,” Thor said.

“That’s not your choice,” Valkyrie said. “I chose to follow you and I know the price I might pay. I’m happy with that.”

Thor nodded.

He knew she was right. These people had chosen to follow Thor, knowing the risks, knowing what it could mean. It didn’t stop is guilt. Thor was certain he would go to his own grave feeling guilty for those he hadn’t been able to save, but it was a something to cling on to. A ray of light in what had seemed so dark before. 

“This fight is not over yet,” Valkyrie said. “Thrym still lives. We lost one battle, but we have to regroup, to come back stronger from this.”

“Yes,” Thor agreed. 

The snap of twins underfoot caused him to whirl around. He pulled his sword, then lowered it as he saw just who was making his way into the clearing. 

Heimdall could not see the destruction all around him, but he did not need to. Thor watched as he sniffed the air. Then he reached out, fingers touching the burnt bark of the nearest tree. Heimdall shuddered.

“Thor!” he shouted.

“I am here my friend, I live,” Thor said, rushing to his side, taking hold of Heimdall’s arm to aid him.

The fire had destroyed so much. Heimdall had been able to walk the length of their encampment with no guide - trusting his hearing, his scent and his touch to orientate him, but now everything that had been there before had done. Now there were fresh graves dug. 

“What happened?” Heimdall asked.

“Thrym’s men attacked us. They set fire to camp.”

Heimdall nodded grimly. “Any dead?”

“Fandral. Njal,” Thor listed the names of the dead, his eyes damp and voice quavering as he named all they had lost. Heimdall gripped his arm tightly, bowing his head until Thor came to a stop. 

“And captured?” he asked.

“We do not know,” Valkyrie answered. “We buried the dead, but we don’t know who escaped and who was captured by Thrym.”

“Loki?” Heimdall asked.

“He is missing,” Thor said.

Heimdall sighed. 

“I am afraid I bring bad news from the Capital. The King is dying.”

Thor cursed. This was not the news he had wanted Heimdall to bring. He had wanted an army, one to defeat Thrym and his men, but Heimdall would have been unable to gain an audience with a dying man. It was clear there was no help coming, that Heimdall had returned alone.

“We must find Loki,” Heimdall said. 

“Yes, but why Loki?” Valkyrie asked. 

Thor looked at her coldly, but she ignored him.

Why not Loki? Why shouldn’t Heimdall be worried for him? Thor was worried for him. Thor could not stand not knowing where he was or what was happening to him. 

“Heimdall, why is it so important that Loki be found?” Valkyrie pressed. 

Heimdall sighed again, sadly this time.

“Let us sit and I will tell you,” he said. 

Thor led him to the shade of the one of the trees, one that had suffered the least damage. They sat on the sprawling roots; Valkyrie perched on one side of Heimdall and Thor on the other.

“I was not always the steward of your father’s Hall, Thor,” Heimdall began. “For a time I served another Lord, Lord Laufey”

Thor nodded. He could not remember a time in his life when Heimdall had not been a servant of his family, but Heimdall was a long-lived man and Thor did not doubt him.

“As his steward I knew all the comings and goings of the Hall. I was the one who escorted his mistress, the witch Fárbauti to their trysts and kept her hidden from the rest of the Hall.”

Thor drew in a deep breath.

“She fell pregnant and disappeared from the lands. I left Lord Laufey’s service and came to work for your father. It was in your father’s service that I met Fárbauti again and met her son, Loki. I knew he was Lord Laufey’s son and Fárbauti confirmed it to me when I pressed her on it. I have told no one until now and as far as I know she never divulge the truth of Loki’s parentage to him. It did not matter then.” 

“But it matters now?” Valkyrie asked.

Thor found his hands shaking, trembling with rage as he realised the full extent of what Thrym had planned.

“It matters,” he said. “Lord Laufey is the King’s uncle. If the King dies, Lord Laufey or one of his sons will succeed the throne. Loki is his son, he is of royal blood. Even illegitimate, he still has a claim on the throne.”

Valkyrie looked at him open mouthed, her shock evident.

“If Thrym takes Loki as his, if he has a child by Loki, then he has a claim to the throne too,” Thor said.

“But Loki is a man!” Valkyrie said. 

“Loki is a witch,” Heimdall said. He closed his milky white eyes, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “I have watched over him as he has grown and I have seen his magic grow stronger with him. Loki will have a child, his magic will demand it. Thrym must know it too.”

Thor buried his head in his hands.

Loki’s words from the night they shared together echoed in his mind. He knew that Loki was no longer taking his preparations. He no longer had that protection against Thrym and his actions. If Thrym forced himself upon Loki, then Loki might bare him a child, no matter what Loki wanted. Thor was coming to understand that Loki’s magic was a curse as well as a blessing. It would take what was given and make something from that, whatever the circumstances. 

The witches survived and their magic survived with them.

Thor raised his head. 

Thrym might have killed his people, might have scattered the survivors, but Thor still lived and while he still lived, Thrym would not have Loki. 

Thor would prevent this one injustice.

“No,” he said. “I won’t let that happen.”

“What are you going to do?” Valkyrie asked. “Fight him by yourself?”

“If I have to,” Thor said. 

“You’ll die.”

“I’m choosing this fight,” Thor said, watching her frown as he turned her own words back on her. “If I die, then so be it, but I’m not going to leave Loki. If this ends in fire, then I will burn with him.”

**

“You really are beautiful, Loki,” Thrym murmured.

Loki did not reply. He stared at his reflection as Thrym and an attendant fussed, dressing him the wedding finary Thrym had deemed suitable for the occasion. His hair had been combed and tied back from his face. Loki thought it made him look worse; his lips were pale and colourless, his eyes larger, haunted in the white sharpness of his face. 

He looked like a ghost in the wedding gown Thrym had chosen. The hem skimmed the top of Loki’s feet. It was demure, virginal white and whole pearls were sown across the bodice. There would have been a time when Loki would have loved it, would have taken pleasure in the softness against his skin and been overjoyed by how expensive it must have been to make, but now he felt lifeless, looking at himself in a mirror and seeing only a shell looking back.

This is what Thrym had been wanting to purchase with his gifts and presents. Loki no longer looked like himself. He looked broken.

Thrym had chosen such a gown for how easy it would be to take Loki after their wedding vows. He had not bothered to provide Loki with leggins or underthings. They would only get in the way.

Loki clenched his bare toes into the cold stone beneath him. 

He wanted to dig himself in, to become one with the flagstones and stop being Loki.

Thrym’s arms encircled his waist, drawing Loki back to the reality of his current situation. He couldn’t vanish into the walls. He couldn’t become one with the stone. He was here, trapped and at Thrym’s mercy. 

Thrym set a belt around his waist. He pulled it tight, smiling at the the reflection of himself and Loki as he buckled it.

The attendant brought something to Thrym, and Loki realized with a sick dread that it was the jeweled dagger. 

“My men advised me that when they found you, you had this in your belt,” Thrym murmured.

He took the dagger and carefully slipped it into Loki’s belt again. It dug painfully into him, held too tight by the belt. 

“I knew you were mine really, Loki,” Thrym continued. “You kept this love token.”

Loki frowned at his reflection. 

He thought about telling Thrym that was a lie. He thought about telling him how Thor had given Loki that accursed thing to protect himself. Loki would never have chosen it willingly. 

He said nothing however. 

This was his life now and Loki would make it as pleasant for himself as he could. He wouldn’t struggle, he wouldn’t resist. He couldn’t vanish or transfigure himself, but he could dull himself to everything. He could retreat back into himself, could hold his tongue and hide the questionable parts of himself until Thrym believed Loki loved him, until he trusted him.

Then, Loki would kill him. 

“You are a beautiful bride, Loki,” Thrym murmured. 

Loki looked down at the floor. He imagined he saw blood drops on the flagstones beneath him. He thought about how it would feel to slit Thrym’s throat, to see the life drain from him. It was what he deserved for robbing Loki of his future, for taking Thor from him. Loki no longer cared if he was hanged, he would welcome that end of it meant he had succeeded in killing Thrym. 

If all that remained for him was an unmarked grave at the crossroads, then so be it. 

“Come,” Thrym said, taking hold of Loki’s hand. 

He led Loki through the corridors of the Keep, towards the small chapel used by the Sheriff and his household. As they walked, Loki saw the faces of servants and soldiers. They were grave, heads bowed in deference to their Lord, but there was no jubilation, no joy at this union. 

They were cowards all of them. They knew that Loki did not consent to this, that he was a prisoner, but they did nothing. They only glanced at him from the corner of their eyes, their faces composed with pity. 

Loki did not want their pity. 

All too soon they came to the chapel doors. They were opened before them by two guards and Thrym marched Loki down the aisle, keeping a tight hold on him as they neared the altar.

A priest was waiting for them. He looked nervous, sweaty. His prayer book slipped in his hands as he opened it, trying to find the right page to begin the ceremony. Loki would have smiled, if he did not think it would give Thrym satisfaction. The priest knew he was marrying his Lord to a witch then. He disapproved, but not enough to call a halt to this charade. He must know too that Loki would not honour these vows, would not be tied by them, for he did not follow this religion or this god. 

Thrym was so eager to have Loki in the eyes of the law that he had forgotten that Loki was not ruled by law. He was chaotic, a creature of the natural laws, and these vows would be nothing but lies. 

“Pronounce us married,” Thrym said, interrupting the priest who had begun with a prayer. 

“My Lord,” the priest said, “I must...there are...that is not how this is done.”

“I do not want to wait,” Thrym said, his grip on Loki tightening as he spoke.

“Why the rush, my Lord?” Loki asked, the first words he had spoken since Thrym had advised him of their impending nuptials. He looked side long at his husband-to-be.

Thrym said nothing. He stared straight ahead, glaring at the priest who was now fumbling through the pages of his book, searching for the right one. 

Loki drew in a sharp breath.

“Thor is not dead,” he said, almost not daring to believe the words. “Thor is not dead and that is why you are rushing. You believe he will find me if you do not hurry and stake your claim.” 

“I have told you already that Odinson is dead, Loki,” Thrym said, but he would not look at Loki. 

It was like coming back from the dead, the revival in Loki’s heart. 

Thor was alive and that was reason for Loki to fight now. 

He wrenched himself free from Thrym’s hold and lashed out, catching him hard across the side of the face. He scratched his nails across Thrym’s cheek, then took off, running for the door. He had no plan, no thought past escape, but Thrym caught him easily around the waist and dragged him back even though Loki screamed and clawed and kicked. 

“Marry us!” Thrym snarled at the priest. 

He threw Loki to the floor and knelt, forcing the wedding gown up around Loki’s waist. 

“My Lord…” the priest began, but his protest was faint . 

He wouldn’t help Loki. He wouldn’t put a stop to this. After a moment, in which Loki’s shrieks filled the air as he fought against Thrym’s hands, trying to covering him, the priest began to recite the marriage vows.

“I will have you here,” Thrym hissed. “I will have you now and Odinson will die.” 

Loki struggled against Thrym, trying to keep his legs clamped firmly together, even as Thrym overpowered him and forced his knee between them, forcing them open.

“Thor has already had me,” Loki gasped.

Thrym stopped. He stared down at Loki, looking for the lie.

Loki felt his heart shudder in his chest, but he looked back at Thrym defiantly.

No lies now. No half-truths to protect himself. Loki would not betray Thor now, would not deny him and everything they were to each other. 

“He has had me and I might carry his child even now!”

Thrym slapped him across the face.

“Then I had better fuck any bastard out of you,” he snarled. 

Above them, Loki heard the priest mumble in latin. He felt Thrym’s hands on his knees, parting them. He felt the cold brush of the air on his bare skin. He could hear Thrym’s harsh breathing and from the corner of his eye he saw the flicker of candles on the altar. He could feel the hard stone under him, so different to the bed that Thor and he had shared. He could smell the musty scent of the chapel and this close he could smell Thrym, the musky scent of him. 

All these things Loki was aware of. 

Then the very earth seemed to shake under him. 

“My Lord!” 

It was a guard who interrupted, rushing into the chapel. He came to a halt, unable to take his eyes off the sight of Loki prone on the floor and Thrym on top of him. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. 

“What is it?” Thrym asked, irritation clear in every word. “We have just been married.”

The guard regained himself. He forced himself to look away from Loki, from the nudity of Loki’s lower half and the rape he had interrupted. 

“We’re being attacked, my Lord. There was an explosion. They’re in the dungeons, my Lord, freeing the prisoners.” 

“Who are?” 

“Thor Odinson and his men, my Lord,” the guard said.

Loki took his chance and shoved the heel of his hand into Thrym’s face, breaking his nose. Blood cascaded down onto the bodice of the white gown and Thrym reeled back. 

Loki scrambled from beneath him, crawling between the pews.

Thrym sat back on his haunches, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Kill them,” he said. “Kill all of them and do not interrupt me again.”

The guard saluted. “Yes, my lord,” he said.

Loki hunched into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had covered himself, had pulled the gown down like a shield to protect him from Thrym. He drew the dagger from his belt, clutching it tightly in his hands. The jeweled hilt felt too cumbersome, too decorative to let him do any real damage, but it was the only weapon he had and Loki planned to defend himself.

Thor was here. Thor had come for him. Loki would resist with all his strength until Thor could reach him. 

Thrym had managed to stop the flow of blood. He stood up, looking around the chapel, his hands and the front of his doublet soaked in his own blood. 

It did not take him long to find Loki huddle where he was. 

“What a cruel thing to do to your husband,” he said. 

“You are not my husband,” Loki said. “I am a witch and your vows mean nothing to me.”

“But they mean something to the rest of the world,” Thrym said, advancing. “In the eyes of the law and in god’s eyes, you are my property Loki. I may do as I like with you and I intend to.”

“Stay back!”

Loki lashed out with the dagger, slicing through the air, but Thrym only laughed. 

“Put that down, Loki, and do your duty to your husband.”

The doors clattered open, another interruption, and Thrym turned in annoyance to look at who had interrupted them now.

Thor stood in the doorway, sword in hand, panting for breath. 

“Odinson,” Thrym greeted him coldly. 

Thor didn’t say anything. He charged at the man. Thrym drew his own sword, bringing it up in time to meet Thor’s swing, blocking it. 

Thor hacked at him, bring his sword down again and again, berserk in his fury. This wasn’t the skilled swordsman that Loki knew, the one who had trained, the soldier who had returned alive from war. Thrym blocked every one of his swings, forcing Thor back, forcing him on the defensive. 

Thor’s heart, his weakness, was getting the better of him. He fought on emotion only and he left himself vulnerable. 

Loki staggered to his feet, still clutching the dagger tight in his hands.

One determined sword thrust from Thrym sent Thor sprawling back into one of the pews. Thrym raise his sword to strike again, but Thor dogged the blow and brought his own sword up quickly, cutting Thrym across the chin. It was a shallow cut, but it was the first hit and Loki saw Thor’s eyes spark.

If only by small cuts, then Thor would win his victory. 

Thrym touched his chin, looking down angrily at the blood he found on his fingers.

“The witch has already made me bleed more than you, Odinson” he said. 

“I would take that as a sign that he doesn’t like you.”

Thrym smiled. It seemed to hurt him greatly with the broken nose and the new cut he had sustained, but he smiled nonetheless.

“We are married now, Odinson. He is mine.” 

Thor snarled and swung at him again. 

Thrym parried with ease, blocking Thor. 

Again and again Thor attacked, but each blow was defended. Thor was exhausting himself, his anger all that was sustaining him, but Loki could see it wouldn’t be enough. 

Thor’s swing went wide, catching him off balance, leaving him unguarded. 

Thrym saw him moment and charged at him, knocking Thor off his feet and sending his sword clattering out of his hand and out of his reach. 

They struggled, but Thrym had the upper-hand. 

Loki cried out. 

Thrym knelt over Thor, sword tip pressed to his throat.

“I will enjoy this, Odinson,” he said. “Almost as much as I will enjoy Loki.” 

He raised his sword.

His attention was focused on Thor and that gave Loki his chance.

“Not as much as I will enjoy this,” Loki said and drove his dagger into Thrym’s back.

He put the full force of his weight behind it, not satisfied until he had buried it to the ruby encrusted hilt. 

Thrym dropped his sword. It clattered uselessly to the floor beside him.

Blood bubbled up, spilling over his lips. 

He turned, reaching for Loki, confusion written clear across his face.

Loki did not move. 

He stared impassively into the eyes of the man he had killed. 

Thrym grasped at the hem of Loki’s gown. 

He tried to speak, tried to say Loki’s name, but Loki tugged himself free of the feeble hold.

“I told you I did not belong to you.”

Thrym died with his eyes open, staring at Loki, seeing him, perhaps for the first time, as who and what he truly was. 

Loki stepped over him to reach Thor’s side. 

He knelt to him, stroking his hands across Thor’s face. 

He had thought Thor lost to him. 

“You’re alive,” he said.

Thor pushed himself up, reaching for Loki. He cupped the back of his neck, looking him over. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked, gesturing at the gown, soaked in blood as it was.

Loki shook his head. 

“All Thrym’s blood.”

Thor nodded. He didn’t seem to trust his voice. His chest heaved, his grip on Loki’s neck tightened. 

Loki knew what he was thinking. They had come so close to losing each other, to being parted forever. 

He pressed forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed Thor.

**

News was sent to the Capital. 

Thrym’s body was burned. There were no funeral rites and no grave stone. 

Loki throw branches of holly into the fire to burn beside the man. He gathered the ashes into an old pot and mixed them with dirt. In the pot, in that dirt, he grew herbs; sage to be exact.

In such a way Loki ensured that Thrym’s spirit never walked. 

He made certain that the people of Asgard would never be haunted by their late sheriff again. 

**

They moved into the Keep. The home they had once had in the forest had been destroyed. There were too many people displaced, too many people in need. They congregate in the Keep with Thor as their Lord, looking to him for guidance. 

It was all as it should be, the natural order of their lands restored.

Thor had taken well to his role. 

He had his stewards - Heimdall, Sif and Valkyrie - to assist him with his tasks. 

Volstagg had been found a prisoner and reunited with his Hilde and his children. Thor had set aside a parcel of the ill-gotten gold they had taken from Thrym for him. Volstagg would have a farm, land to pass down to his sons and a comfortable life. Thor released him from his stewardship with wishes of prosperity and a happy life.

It was a peaceful time in the wake of so much turmoil, but Loki knew it could not last. 

“What now?” Thor asked.

He and Loki stood together, alone for the moment, having stolen away to one of the empty rooms of the Keep, finally able to talk. The tasks of running a county had left little time for them to do more than reaffirm their love for each other. They had not been able to talk of the future. 

Loki placed his hands on the flat of his stomach and thought of his mother. 

“Nobility do not marry witches,” he said.

Thor turned to him.

“Loki, I am not a noble any more. I am an outlaw. Could a witch marry an outlaw?” 

Loki glanced at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but they were interrupted before he could. The doors to the room were thrown wide and in strode a tall, dark haired man in full armor. He was familiar, his face like looking into a mirror for Loki, although the man was older and his jaw was dark with stubble.

He wore the banner of the King.

Thor dropped to his knee. Loki did not move. 

Witches did not acknowledge Kings.

“Well met, my lord,” he said. “And who are you?”

The man smiled. It was an uncanny resemblance.

“Helblindi Laufeyson. And you must be Loki? I believe I should greet you as brother.”

“You may do as you wish,” Loki said stiffly. 

Helblindi’s smile did not falter. He seemed amused by Loki’s coolness towards him. 

“I believe, Loki, that I have thank to give to you and Lord Odinson. You are the reason I am not facing open revolt.”

Thor rose from his kneeling position. 

“I am afraid I am no longer a Lord,” he said. 

Helblindi’s smile grew wider still. 

“I have granted a full pardon to your father, Lord Odinson, and restored your title and lands. Your people have been pardoned too. It is the least I can do.”

Loki swallowed. 

Thor was a Lord again, as he had always been meant, but Loki was still the witch, and nobility still did not marry witches. The egality they had gained when Thor was an outlaw was gone. 

“And the most you could do?” he asked.

Helblindi reached out and took hold of his hands. Loki let him, but he remained as stone, watching his newly found brother with suspicion. 

“Grant you a title, I believe,” Helblindi said. “And give you my blessing on your future marriage, brother.”

Loki’s resolve broke. 

He pulled his hand from Helblindi’s and threw his arms around the man instead, hugging him tightly. 

“Thank you, brother,” he murmured.


End file.
